Fiction · Poetry


At first glance, breathing—

It was the last thing on my mind.

His eyes make diamonds envious

As they sparkle brighter,

Leaving a trail of girls after.

And his lips, once words flow,

There’s nothing, I know,

That I want to hear more.

Blessed in the gene department,

Everyone can see.

Just standing in the room

Makes girls weak on the knees.

Pathetic—now that is me.

I don’t even deny that

I am lost in my own reverie.

Because if to be noticed by him

Was a competition through lottery,

Count me in; I bet my all.

The psychotic girl stands tall.

Despite knowing that I have only

Chances that are one

In who-knows-how-many;

I won’t even deny,

I still hope on you, probability.

(featured image courtesy: MTV)




4 thoughts on “Chance

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