Split Roulette

The wind in my hair
Flys in The melody
Of modern beat
Meets old love.

There is a man
Resting, propped up, on an abandoned mattress
Staring, up,
In a daze..
Seemingly at the buildings
Across the way.

I, too, am losing myself in the ordinary.
Seeing its extraordinary.

Lost somehow in the daze of the way the sun hits this, and how the lighting forms "that"...

My days lately, seem to be taring at me.
Like two minds debating until claws are ripping off faces;
Masks... (There is blood)..

My head splits in agony;
"Bare with me", begging.
I am split. Craving. Lost. Desired.
Lost...
But maybe
On my way out..

The days,
They play at me,
Like roulette and a pistol.
Dark clouds I cuff myself in,
Excited at the angst of sinful foreplay..
Lost however..
Because its not
A game.

Roulette.
Will? You...
Deny me?
Self? God? Person I love?
Will you,
Continue
To deny me?

My game:
Roulette...
All...
All...
Or nothing.

What is there really anyway?
So why not?