Struggle

You’d think it would be easy

to give you up,

let you go,

consign you to the dustbin

of my memory.

Not so fast.

There’s no amour

in this love game:

vanity fair

stare-down

shakedown

take-down

of all that makes

good sense.

I would rather

taunt the lion,

prod the cobra,

clasp a viper to my breast

and take what comes.

Do anything but lose.

But though I make of this

a war,

jihad,

an epic fight,

it really is quite simple:

turn around and walk away.

So easy that it’s hard.

No matter that I play to win

in our little hate game,

by craving victory
(your love)

I lose.

This was written for Sunday Scribblings 2.