Dice n Dazzle

On the stale stool of a dim-lit bar in Oklahoma, There sits a man, crowned with the dust of the plains, His hands stained with stories of struggle, Scratching a living from metal veins. In the creases of his palms, the residues of meth, A tale of nights too bitter to sleep, He dances with shadows, courts with death, In a gamble where stakes run chillingly deep. Flickering neon sings a restless, electric tune, He rolls the dice, each click a call to fate— Beneath the sickle of a waning crescent moon, Time suspends, and dreams retaliate. The copper wires like serpents coil, He's a raider in the ruins of his own despair, Cashing in life's scrap for a moment's spoil, Trading sweat for pennies, breath for air. Tonight the dice cast shadows long, The amber liquid courage spills, He pukes on his own humility, wrong Yet, right there, subdued by cheap thrills. No kings here, only pawns on checkered floors, Their fortunes tossed on numbered squares, In Oklahoma, this man once more, Finds solace where no one spares. Whispers weave through smokey beams, Of a life tethered by tethers unseen, His truth, drowned in silent screams, Muffled by the realms of what could have been. From dusk 'til dawn, in brawls and bars, Among the ballads of broken souls, Our man sways to a tune of scars, Where life, unchecked, exacts its tolls.