The best card of all is a pretty face

Silence, unwelcome, awkward, and utterly miserable. 
As I sat at the gambling table completely unstable. 
The men around me discussed and talked, 
One man lit a cigarette, 
Another left the game for a walk.
All the men dressed like we are in the Victorian era, 
Except for one women with one red cheek and runny mascara. 
We sat with our cards the table a molded green that had faded, 
I was wondering what kind of game I had created. 
As the numbers dropped like nations to me and her. 
I could sense something, 
It was fear. 
Of what I'll never know,
I folded with my triumphant cards in my lap 20 grand for a pretty face, 
On my shoulder I felt a grip. 
As I laid on the concrete floor that I hit the blood that I spit though as my eyes were stuck shut I'll admit she was worth it.