another sad poem... why do i continue to write these?

the colors shift from red to blue
like some sick leaf dead in the fall
i let the string slip off my wrist

this entertainment's getting old
like sweet exhaust smell from the pipe
but danger's more than sitting still

life's made for you to fuck it up
regrets are not redeemable
in slot machines outside this world

the more i try the worse things get
all poetry dies off in length
not smart enough to let things go

but ill sit here long after dark
and bite bullets i never dodged
is this the kind of life i want?

... yay for sad poems