Everything is a game to me;
The game is a cruel demon.
It is secretive, revealing itself atom by atom.
Even the gentlest bump from the demon will drain the soul:
The game is a power struggle;
Power over threats, threats posed by those closest.
The demon's lightest shake causes death:
The soul crumbles under power's chain, corrupted.
The body returns to dust;
Demon's talon beckons the cells apart.
<You make little sense...>
<Where does this game begin, let alone end?>
The game begins at the end;
It ends deep within the mind's shadows.
As the end draws near,
The beginning oozes forth.