A/N: This is dedicated to all the tributes that had died in the HungerGames and Quarter Quell. I do NOT own the HungerGames ... unfortunately.
I'm on thin ice.
Playing with rigged dice.
This is a sick and cruel game.
Some want life and some want fame.
I have no one to trust.
For win I must.
Death lingers on the field
All these wounds cannot be healed.
Words mocked have become my life.
It's as deadly and sharp as my knife.
I turn to the past.
In my moments last.
I look at the life that I had.
I see the moments;
The good the bad,
The happy the sad.
Death invites me away from my pain.
I go and I join him on the black and white train.
I leave all regret the sadness behind.
For who knows what I'm about to find.
A/N:Hope you enjoyed! And I'm sorry if anyone was offended by the sex of death (Male). It was not meant to be sexist, it just flowed well with the poem.