I was fighting in a battle I was destined to lose from the start.

There was never a chance for us, this was apparent the minute I entered the field, my left foot tripped and falling over my right (tripped and falling into love with you).

There was never a chance for us, not when the girls of youth with their hungry eyes devour the spaces between the open and fragile skin inside your arm (the open and fragile skin inside your heart) as their arm links with yours (as their heartbeats link and sink in time with yours).

There was never a chance for us, not when I bruised blue so easily like an overripe peach (bruised blue so easily without being touched); not when my eyes blurred to fast, distancing me from the reality of this world.

There was never a chance for us, the color of surrender is white. And I've become skin, bone, and torn clothes. Layers of white, upon white, upon white. The color of my bleeding red for you, isn't enough to cover the white signaling our end (I was not enough in the end).

I was fighting a battle, and I think I just lost everything (I think I just lost you).