15 to love, still able to win,
gotta tough it out,
winning is everything. Losing's a sin.
I'll keep trying. I'm still in with a shout.

My backhand slices
the ball to my foe
(Joe's my friend but in a crisis,
I shift where the winds blow)

He parries, sends the ball to the line,
his touch is immaculate,
cleaner than mine.
I leap like a cat

return it with ease
he flicks it back over the net
intending to tease.
I grimace. We made a bet

and now I engage
into higher gear,
my brain fills with rage,
my heart fills with fear.

Advantage to me,
the crowd stands to cheer,
Joe falls to one knee,
buckled, losing a tear.

I volley. It whizzers
past his frozen form
he tries, but misses,
defeated, forelorn.

At last I have won,
the gold cup is mine,
another dream spun,
back to the factory line.

There once was a girl
who drove a big, black bus
to the edge of a bridge
overlooking the sea.

In the occupied seats
sat her torturous demons
ready to attack her
if needed be.

The girl opened the doors
and walked out to the shore
her demons following
closely behind.

She turned her back
to the edge of the sea
and told them she needed
a moment alone.

She reached out and touched
her forehead with her index
closing her eyes
to savour the moment.

She then took out a blade
from the inside of her jeans
tore it through the air
to make the demons flee.

They hissed and they clawed
slashed their talons in the air
but the girl bit back the tears
and let out a war cry.

She gripped her demons
by their beastly throats
twisting her hands
and the demons fell down.

She gathered them all
in her big, black bus
pushed it in the water
and let her demons drown.

Walk slow
Think fast
Tilt your head
Slightly back

Focus in
Fade out
All the noise
From the crowd

Step back
Seek out
Breathe in
And out doubt

Process
This now
Focal point
Is how

When someone is on a winning streak
they don’t really consider feeling weak.
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