Not All Victories are Absolute

That beast awakens again tonight.
It smells my weakening will, and my confusion.
It smells them, and its appetite is aroused, after fasting for days.

It salivates at the thought of me;
at the thought of tasting me.

I don’t understand its desire.

What I wonder now is:
Would it rather swallow me whole tonight,

Or! 

Would it prefer to feel the crunching of bones tickle its tongue? 

Prefer to taste the metallic iron in the warm gushes
that spray the back of its throat before
coursing hot and dark from its grinning maw?

Prefer to savour what little I have to take,
with almost nothing of me left to drizzle
onto the dead leaves below?

It smells my fading self-awareness,
as I stand before it again tonight,
like countless times before.

Why am I here?

Because I have no choice. 

No choice?
There’s always some choice.

Tonight, I have the energy to at least remain upright.
I stand on two legs,
weight forward.

    There’s always a choice,
    as long as there’s some amount of energy left.

It doesn’t have me on the back foot. 

Not yet.

I’m tired. I’m so tired,
but I’m standing. 

I’m here.

I’m here, holding my weapon.
I just refuse to go back.

There’s only forward.
It won’t taste me tonight. 

As long as we have any energy left in us at all,
with breathing lungs,
and beating hearts,

we can always choose.

Not all victories are absolute.

That’s ok.
They don’t need to be.

Take a swing.

Lean into it.