Nice Gambling Poem!

It's my dice.
They want me to hurry up,
Push out the snake eyes.

It's my bet.
And they want me go ahead,
Call out that bluff (that isn't there).

I've complied with them the whole time,
Every game;
I've kept then happy,
And to them,
That's all that matters.
And for a long time,
It was all I ever had to worry about.

And I've been brought up to believe
That everything is okay,
As long as they are happy.

They're my chips.
And I see them falling off the table,
Spilling,
Into the greedy dealer's hands.

And then I realize:
I'm only doing it for them,
And I've saved myself for last:

But last never came.

Now it's my turn,
Hit or stay.
I already know what they want.
"Stay," they order me,
"It'll be better for you."
And for a split second,
I considered it:
I considered staying in my place,
Working endlessly with no benefit,
Playing right into their hands.

And then I said:
"Hit."

The look on their faces,
Their jaws dropped,
Just for a moment.
And they laughed,
Covering up their fear
With delight,
And the dealer smirked
With all his might,
And he slowly picked up the card
From the deck that is life,
And I waited,
And the suspense was too much
For any of us,
And we waited
And waited
And seconds seemed like hours,
Ragged breathing,
Like a life-or-death game.
This was it,
There was no turning back,
I almost felt a pinge of regret,
And then,

Down went the card.

"Twenty-one."

Proclaimed the dealer,
Buried in anger,
Like the rest of them.

I had been all in,
Sure to leave all out.
And that's how it goes:

It's my life.
And they want me to hurry up,
Lay my chances on the line for them
And come back empty.

But today,
I come home,
With all of the chips they had so patiently saved up
From my losses.

It's my dice.
I smile as I watch them rush through the game,
And roll out their own demise

Without the help of me.

This poem is taken from allpoetry.com