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[stone pecan]

I'm Good Will's demise;
the lion that lies
belly up, capsized
by instinct compromised.

My staff team training—
towel throwing practice.
automatic reflex,
habitual collapse.

I'm the resignation champion.
King of shadow boxing.
Fall like a butterfly.
Kneel after one hit.

Tonight's premiere;
The Doppelganger
dressed in new rags,
running gag, old, washed.

Twenty-seven years, butchered.
Sucker punching the sucker—
"You're living a lie"
c g i i n d i s m a n t l e d.
o n t o

It's all in my head:
the ring, the stage,
the searing crowd
shouting me down.

Scoreboard wiped blank.
Peaked in rank—only zeros now.
Bet everything on losing hand.

.

[stone chasm]

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[azure mirage]

Absolutely fantastic poem 👏.

[azure mirage]

This poem hits hard because it never begs for sympathy — it lets failure speak for itself. The boxing imagery is brutal and consistent, but what really stands out is how the fight isn’t with an opponent, it’s with the self. Lines like “towel throwing practice” and “Fall like a butterfly. Kneel after one hit.” flip familiar phrases in a way that feels honest and devastating. The fragmentation at the end visually mirrors the collapse of identity, which is such a smart choice. It feels raw, self-aware, and uncomfortably real — the kind of poem that stays with you after you finish reading.