Shirt torn,
Hair flying,
Nose bleeding,
Blood shot eye,
Two teeth missing.

These spectators won’t stop yelling but all I can hear is the deafening beats of the war drum. The one that boils my blood with determination.

These distractions are so appealing, drawing me in shades of sugar and honey, but all I can see is the target.

Even if I lose all my limbs, shed my skin, dragged through thorns and magma, I will find you, I will get to you and you would be mine.

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