Life in Scrabble

We wrote sonnets in English a while back inspired by William Shakespeare. I called mine, "Life in Scrabble." Honestly, I'm not exactly sure why. There's something about Scrabble and 'anecdoche' that really speaks to me–the metaphor, I mean. I dare you to look up the word, anecdoche. I'm sure you'd be surprised as to how inconspicuously identifiable it is; almost as if you see it all the time, but can never describe it.

Anyway, this poem is completely open to interpretation, but I wrote it with the intention of discussing the (perhaps toxic) excitement we crave in life though the wit thereof we but dimly discern, and more than suspect, that life would be a bore otherwise.

Life in Scrabble

the toxic lives we lead to gain some thrillof which we crave and feed and never thank.addiction pure, it takes the human skill complaining all the way reveals a blankwhen fire and ice combine they don’t dividethey multiply. two masochistic peaksdon’t cancel they intensify.–and yes there’s something bringing colder cheeks,but oh i bring the burn yet all too latecreating human life in scrabble boresattempting for a cleaner toxic slatein order to at last build up my scoremy breathing turns to sighing all to wasteregret ends ties, indifference post-chase