Mortal Kombat, Hungover

Can't you see my swivel head spin,
orbiting a concussion sun?
Breathless, beaten blue
thoughtless, head metal-racket
feet disconnected from heart, mind
disjointed thinking
how can I be so helpless?

It's Mortal Kombat,
so I should have known the possibility;
seen the eventuality--
Even the best sometimes succumb
to pissants spamming "punch."
Cheap shots, cheap shots,
the idiot luck of the game
hastily constructed, ad hoc pixels slapped together
accidental death trap.

Here I am,
queezy, broken livered
waiting for fatality:
a spine removed
a heart stopped
a head exploded
glorious, gleeful gore.