Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2019
Ten grueling rounds.
Eight twisted shadows.
Seven broken bones
Four bruised ribs.
Three kicks to the gut.
Two knives in the back,
One ****** lip.
And a final, crushing blow to the head.

All that remains is the cold stench
of betrayal.

I have lost the war with my worst enemy.

Me.
Written by
Stephen S
  156
     ---, shamamama and Khoisan
Please log in to view and add comments on poems