I will not be beat into submission
I will resist
Fighting the forces that throw themselves in my path,
with every part of me,
until the last breath leaves my lungs
and my blood runs cold
there has been no rain,
Nothing to wash away these salts
They are my tears, my sweat, pain, proof of the battle
Rushing over me,
Flowing to my new found cuts
Wounds
I tear at them
Anguish rips fresh scabs
Wounds healing
Cold blood running through every crevice that is my past
Scars; wounds that will never heal.
I fought to the death.
