Losing. Dying. Living.

I am fighting, no - warring, to understand
This love, this connection
This way of being that demands more of me than is there


It is death of me
Of my rights, needs, wants, perceptions
It is relinquishing ownership


But ownership of what?
Something I only thought was mine - me.
I have been bought with a price that I did not pay.


Blood. Another death. The price for me.


Who does this? 
Who buys my death?
How does the exchange happen?


A choice. A paradox. A contronym.
Death is life. 
I only exist if I don’t.


It hurts, this losing who I think I am.
It's harder than the words imply
And I am fighting, no - warring, to understand how to do it.
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