14
Jul
15

#8

My heart nearly stops

beating at each

clashing ring and the

guts coiled

tightly threaten

to painfully push their

way out.

The dried blood

splattered earlier on

exposed nerves, pulsates

and

begins to glisten its

wetness; flowing out

sporadically to imbue

an old design again,

in which

the battle was lost

before I became

aware of the invasion.

And, whilst

I licked my wounds

the warriors

practiced the

art

with love.

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