With defeat placed into your rejecting hands,
You fall back,
Not knowing what to do or to say,
The enemy throws phrases and unwavering facts,
Like shelves of books tumbling onto your body.

Your mind freezes,
Your lips twist and turn Whiteley grim,
Your fists clenched darkly,
The touch of defeat is not a proud feeling,
And worse; when you are the bad guy.

Racing through your drawers of comebacks,
But unable to find any,
You kneel to the hard ground,
And you bow your unwilling head low to your nemesis,
They have won and left you lying in the mud of regret.

Misery is like a fine dagger,
Slowly cutting and digging,
Into your innocent flesh it goes,
Scooping out all the glee,
All the rainbows of your life.

Your misery is not beautiful,
It is like an ugly frog,
Awaiting for it's graceful princess,
To sweep in elegantly like a pure swan,
To give you back your euphoria with her soft angelic lips.

But of course; although she may not come,
Misery flies away on the wings of time,
Leaving nothing more than the black ashes of a phoenix,
But, misery will eventually come gliding back,
To bring you the same pain it has gave you during it's last visit.