Running. Muscles. Worn. I jump and leap.
I force myself into intense moments to moan out in pain. Aching all my days.
Sweat breaks. Moods tense. Teeth clenched. Fighting for blood. I indulge the intense emotion to drive, to jump, to drown it all out.
To prevail- a fight just of fighting. Anxiousness pervades my dreams. Don’t stop. Never stop. Pull the sword. Be the blade.
No remorse.
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Author:
Sunshinefalling (
Offline) - Published: February 6th, 2019 21:21
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
- Users favorite of this poem: whisperingquill
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Comments1
If only we could whisk our pain away.
Nicely done
Yes. Thanks. Then we would no longer need to fight bc we would win without the requirement of battle.
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