Loss is the key and the doorway;
the doorway beyond which wisdom lies
Loss is the one path and the only way;
the darkness beyond which light cries
Loss is the memory from a cruel past;
broken pieces of a mirror called self
Pick up the pieces, the first and the last;
fingers get cut, blood oozes out itself
Taste each drop of the oozing blood;
the taste reminds you of her mouth
The body and the secretly hidden bud;
her warmth, her freshness and her couth
Loss is how you understand love and desire;
the essence of lust and the furiously raging fire
Loss is how you see the world as a quagmire;
all its selfishness, being played on the lyre