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The Real Competition
Crack! and then the tears begin, but I doN’t run away again. As salty streams run down my cheek, No fists raise I; instead I speak to one who caN’t being to listen. With these words I try to christen the attacker as a friend, but the man just will Not bend. Then I see the bloodshot eyes, and a mouth that speaks just lies. Truth hits him back when he hits me, the bruises it leaves they can’t see. Who wins this fight of fist and phrase? Who can they all begin to praise? |
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