Losers

The loser in you speaks so eloquently.  What is deemed pathetic is only synthetic to the naked eye.  How could I and the loser in me argue with you so desperately?  I've got my hands in my pockets. You've got one chance to succeed before I rip out your heart just to watch you bleed.  What is deemed poetic is merely prophetic to the deaf ear.  The loser in you does not belong here.

Running scared.  Standing still.  It's the same destination.  We're all hostages to this cosmic free will.  What the universe won't tell you while God is on vacation is we've got to surrender without hesitation.  But the loser in you succumbs to the bastardization of some unspoken prayer.  And the loser in you is now a disciple of temptation while the loser in me is bound by limitation.  And I don't belong there.

When I debate with the loser in me, all truth is lost in its ambiguity.  The loser in you is welcome to enter the fray.  You're welcome anywhere as long as you stay.  No matter how pungent, the truth is always a bouquet. 

I think I'm ugly and verifiably weak, the loser in you dares not to speak.   I'll trade you my ego for your mystique.  What the universe won't tell you is this karmic curse is just a loser's winning streak. 

The loser in you is in love with the loser in me.  That loser will lose her eventually.  And we can exchange pleasantries and affectionate words but at the end of the day, we are merely left with the verbs.  


And I would think by now, we would know better.  But the losers in us will always stick together.

You speak so eloquently.  What is deemed pathetic is truly aesthetic.  Your words are music to me.