The only games I play are the ones you won’t— not for lack of skill, but fear of a fair fight.
No sleight of hand, no silver-tongued deceit, no victory stolen in the dark.
So, play true, or don’t play at all.
So take your best shot. I know you thrive in poker, where the stakes are built on bluffs and the win lies in sleight of hand.
But I don’t play at the table. I don’t sit and exchange pleasantries with hypocrites— the ones who wear virtue like a mask, saints when you’re watching, but serpents when you turn away.
Their whispers weave rumors, their tongues sharpened with lies. Smiles in daylight, daggers in the dark.
I don’t play their game. I don’t sit. I don’t bow. And I don’t break.
I take my aim at the target, pull back the string, steady the breath, and send my victory straight to the center— no gamble, no guess— just a bull’s-eye.
Because even the devil plays this ******* game to claim your soul. But I, on the other hand, plays fair by deeds and redemption, forgiveness and having constant communication, faith and belief in God. Only he is deserving of claiming my soul.
My cousin is an atheist which he never believes in God. He believes more in the devil. My grandmother once practiced black magic and witchcraft. I just wondered why our home sometimes feels eerie. I tried to educate her when she was ill up until now, but she never listened, saying she has no sins to confess or mistakes to acknowledge.