Sunday, March 4, 2018

A poem: The Battle

You try to break me

You try to suffocate me

You try to scare me

You try to confiscate me

You try to eviscerate me

I feel the nerves tingling, thoughts racing, mind melting, emotions elevating, the darkness. Oooo the darkness has returned.  You mother fucker you.  I can let you take me, I can let you break me.  But I promise you, my toolbox is ready, my weapons are armed.  12 rounds, 60 minutes, 9 innings, 3 periods.  Game on you son of a bitch.

Feel myself ground, feel my fists pounding, feel the screams coming, feel my skills drumming.  You are no match for me you wretched being.  You are not me.  You are my sickness.  This means I own you.  And I am not playing today no sir.

I will break free

I will breathe

I will not fear

I will take my self back

I will not disappear.

I am the survivor, I am victorious.  

I will go to bed and we’ll do this tomorrow, and I will win.


via Tumblr A poem: The Battle

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