Back To Square One
I positioned my chips, and prayed for a win,
But numbers ignored came in time and again.
I'd sometimes bet evens, sometimes odds,
Then send prayers upstairs to the gambling Gods.
But night after night, they failed to reply,
And with each losing bet: a mighty sigh.
With hindsight, it's clear, i was out of control,
Like a car thief whose chased in the porsche he stole.
The first night i left over three hundred down,
With a forehead that sported the worlds biggest frown.
I'd been eighteen months clean, which aggrieved me the most,
Then along came that demon: my gambling ghost.
When betting on black, reds came in,
Spin after spin after spin after spin.
"It's a mugs game this!" I'd often recite,
But guess who returned the following night?
My gambling addiction is clearly innate,
A deep rooted problem within.
I gamble when life's in an unbalanced state,
When life's full of yang, but no yin.
© Copyright 2016 ben hardstaff. All rights reserved.