Together we play a game of chicken
Russian roulette even—
eventually the bullet kills us
Moth to flame—you say it all the time—
eventually we burn
Bait-and-switch—what are we selling that we won't be giving 

Game of Chicken
Your freedom or mine
Certainly not ours together

You go your way
I go mine 
Now we collide 
Toward death or to freedom
Or are they the same

What gives and when 
We are at the edge
Which one of us will swerve 
Or will we, at the end? 

~Nikki, The Soul Reporter