this is how you lose:
slowly but surely slipping, gently losing your footing
your grip slackening.
certainty is the final blow, a slow cut
across arteries, blades across flesh, bleeding.
“i will lose this”, the last words of all
possibilities as it eke out its last heartbeats
“i will lose this,” the last words of all
that could’ve been as its receding footsteps’
empty echoes bid its final goodbyes
“i will lose this,”: coffee, soda, bottles
all empty and upended and final.
this is how you close a chapter.
this how you end the story:
by losing what you’d rather not, but truth
is a liberating foe, an enemy sworn to your side
binding instead of freeing, yet somehow still
an open cage you’d rather not step out of.
this is how you lose:
in silence, in suppression, in truth.