Players

The two stared at one another both knew something that the other didn’t; that was the game; the rules by which they play, and played, the fools. The putrid stench beneath their feet, that those who went before excrete, impregnates their skin to slow taint their rotting ankles, in restraint; for there is no escape, save one; one word divides those lost or won. They chose to play this game, these two, paid their dues, later joined the queue. The fun soon turned to anger, hate vile intercourse, spitting raw debate the scratching of old wounds, new scars what's old, what's new, what's mine, what's ours! Blood slowly seeps from bites by rat lapped greedily by purring cat, two squawking rooks, and buzzing flies that crawl around their staring eyes hatched from their own fetid waste; two lovers, gamers, now debased They thought they'd easy win this game; but neither ever named the name. And so the two they sit and stare at their flaking skin, falling hair disintegration of each face ever locked in death's embrace.   He watches with an evil smirk; this couple in their deathly cirque; both rotting from without, within; both guilty of a deadly sin!