Our love
could only be matched
by our hate.
On of the people that rule us.
Kill us.
Are amused by us.
It is a game to them.
One of great proportions.
One that they enjoy.
The one in which we die.
The one in which we kill.
The one in which we cry.
The one in which I was victorious.
The one in which you were victorious.
Only to get dragged back in.
To play again.
With others like us.
Victorious, but not for long.
Killed in this game of theirs.
They were.
When they thought they had escaped.
But victory is short lived here.
When you are ruled by a higher power that is blinding white,
and merciless.
From the ground we rise.
To begin again.
To become the higher power.
To watch the games.
Played again
for her.