The kids who have pencil sharpeners that can no longer sharpen
who use lighters but dont smoke
Who wear makeup on their arms instead of their face
who's eyes are red from crying, not getting high
Heres to the kids who are broken
Not because they deserve it
But because life is a gamble
A game
And they lost

Each turn of my life
is a play for thrills
remnant of the games
we'd throw our dice:
a couple of chance,
hoping for the jackpot
but settling for change,
living for the spin,
'till it's our role again;
a crap shoot fallen,
two die alone.

You always looked good in dark suits with golden buttons on your cuff. Those were always a nice touch, to stand side your perfect figurine.
You were everything I once wanted. But now, you really aren't.

I see the rushing of the real truths of you, swell into your own hands, dropping a ball, losing your own special touch of sportsmanship with not much of a fuss. You're letting yourself lose the game.
Just letting ***** of truth squirt out through your veins.

You're losing your grip right out from your own polished finger tips and dripping red of blood.

You constantly try to pull white handkerchiefs of innocence from the wrists of your cuffs. But, those handkerchiefs are all just red...
Don't try and gamble a bad hand if you can't keep up. You never could keep a good bluff.