Mindsweeper
Wake me up from my slumber—
still delirious, still recovering.
You want me to play your game.
I protest, saying, “A little bit longer,”
but we both know it’s now or never—
the timer has already started.
I crack my knuckles and my neck.
You smile as you open up your chest.
Where I expect a heart,
there’s always something else—
and this time,
you are not so different.
Tiny grey squares stare back at me,
with a stupid yellow smiley face
looking down like it knows something I don’t.
I’m supposed to uncover what’s behind those squares,
but one wrong move—
and I die.
Everything is on the line.
Click.
Still alive.
Hell yeah—
got rid of more than I thought.
Think I’ll be fine.
Click.
Not so good.
Could’ve done better.
Click.
That was okay.
Don’t get cocky,
but I can’t help getting excited.
What’s the prize?
Been searching for so long,
I might’ve forgotten why I started.
Click click click.
Yes yes yes.
Click click click.
I can taste it!
BOOM!
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Oops.
Too bad.
Better luck next time.
Mr. Smiley Face frowns,
and the screen goes black—
forever shut down.
Dad said I was bad at games because I was young.
Said that as I grew older,
I’d be just as good as him.
Turns out age was never the issue—
and I never cared to practice anyway.
Because at the end of the day—
why are grown-ass people
still playing childish games?