dusk to darkness.

how old do you think i am,
playing such games with me?

scrunch a piece of paper, throw it in the dustbin.

pick it up a couple of hours later and straighten in.

it'd be crumpled and stained, no matter how hard you try.

try as you may to make it new, the lines they just don't disappear.

crushing it up again in anger, bouncing it off the wall,

a few more creases appear, together with wrinkles that won't fade.

rumple that sheet again and stamp a few hard stomps,

dirt embedded furrows fill the once unblemished surface.

gone all frayed and thinned, on the verge of tearing

squashing up the old worn piece, it seems softer to the touch

the once fresh sheet is nothing but a piece of junk.

limp and badly chafed, it threatens to split at every ridge

regardless of efforts to smoothen out, its edges remain curled

tattered, wrinkly, torn and thin, it'll never be that fresh crisp sheet.
for all that it's been through, every scar remains.

i've played this game for long enough.
enough is enough.
the piece is alr shredded,
and you're still ripping away.