Losing Beautifully

Goodbye.

The word used to slip so easily from my bruised lips,

and it always made you proud enough to stick around.

The lies you told were just daily vitamins meant to seep into my naive thoughts,

the stronger the affects, the weaker this love seemed to get.

Pain.

You taught me your language of hurting so well,

that sad words and broken promises meant to provoke my fire,

the same one you used to love igniting by leaving me behind,

disappeared into different whispers of men who's despair matched my own,

and who's faces I made sure you'd never forget.

Weak.

The word described you effortlessly.

From the way your skin softened when my fingers ran across the curves on your face,

to the way your bones shattered at the thought of me never coming back.

I used to love seeing you burn right along with me.

Losing.

You decided you were good at it and you wore it like a permanent smile,

meant to capture and keep the victims,

never to warn them of the enemy you'd turn out to be.

Your attempts at covering the scars of your past always backfired around me,

bringing to the surface a game you thought I'd never win.