I tense,

Expecting trembling skin,

As the crowd closes in.

I concentrate,

Awaiting the mounds of human-quakes,

To spill their hopeless hearts inside the ring.

I flicker,

Impatiently as words rotate,

With agonising slowness.

I stand,

Eagerly embracing fierceness,

But fooled in an unresponsive pattern.

I sit,

Unable to tell,

Hours of rehearsed tales.

I exhale,

Pleased for not building a float of lies,

Which used to sink my soul.

I owe,

Since the pain-screaming individuals around,

Demand bites of my life as a pay for bursting theirs out.


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