This kind of fell past my lips and onto a page one afternoon after a therapy session.

It's not a happy poem. It's, in my head, about ruining something - a moment, story, relationship, whatever you take it as - before it ever starts. Losing before you ever have the chance to try to win. 

I'd just lost a friend to suicide, and there's always been a sense of not only guilt but also this dismal... horror, I suppose, at what I left unsaid, what I left undone, what I could've had but sought to ruin because it felt safer or easier or generally better.

It's whatever you want it to be, though. I'm not a poet, so I'd rather it be left to interpretation.