I dare you to try to slow it down.
It will buck you like an iron bull.
pistons fire full bore behind bruised ribs.
eighty pound heart
convulse in half-time beat
no room for gut feelings
clutch the writhing organ
pin it down.
nail it to the floor.
walk away.
block it out.
don't cry again.
its only another relapse.
it's gets easier. . .
well, maybe it doesn't.
but you will eventually stop caring.
either way,
what does it matter?
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