I stand where painted playground colors gleam,

Where childhood games wear masks of sharpened stakes;

A fevered pulse beneath a neon dream,

Where every fragile hope trembles and breaks.

Green light—my heart sprints forward, fierce and wild;

Red light—I freeze with breath held in my chest.

The rules are simple, cruelly reconciled:

Survive the round, let fate decide the rest.

Masked watchers loom like gods without a face,

Their silence louder than a thousand cries;

Yet still I’m drawn into that fractured place

Where desperation strips away disguise.

For in that game of shadow, risk, and flame,

I find strange beauty—and I love the game.