Shiny metal machines line the halls
Pockets filled with life saving
How many times will you tell yourself that you won’t spend it all?
Until the murmur in your head is masked
Replaced with words of false comfort
Coins spilling between fingers
Hands clammy with anticipation
One more game
Does not quench the thirst
Of the barren desert soul
Pull another lever
Hit another button
The machines coos
‘This can solve all of your problems’
As it lullabies the doubt to sleep
The next morning, you wake up
Five dollars and eighty nine cense
Is all that remains in your pockets
The metal machines are no longer cooing
Instead they are mocking your misery
Applauding themselves for depleting yet another victim
You want to blame the machines
The alcohol
The problems in your life
That obviously forced you to put the coin in the slot
But deep down
You realize
The only person responsible
Is you