You just want to ****
my spirit for the thrill
of the game
and the adrenaline in your veins

You don't care about the thoughts
racing through my mind
or the wars fought
to keep my heart off the grind

The whispers over my shoulder
have made me older
when I'm still too young
to have winded lungs

Yet I'm choking, can't breathe
as I stare at the storm before
my eyes, every word hung in seethe,
For how could one already be so **** sore?