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I was lying, bleeding, dying, pleading
hopeless, groaning on the floor
when a desperate thought commenced a breeding
as I had never known before.

It was a moment, a pause for breathing
grasping at my life once more,
as I no longer endured a beating
from the victor, the sicker one, the whore.

I was not the weaker man
nor was I now stripped of pride,
for he left with a gun in hand,
assuming upon this floor I died.

My blood surged through my brain aware,
the bullet deeply lodged there.
If I had been given a chance to fight,
he would have died, not me, this night.

 

I wrote this poem for      knightm7

because he likes poems to rhyme or have rhythm, lol.

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