Run

Listen.

Sometimes you

need

to feel

the copper tang

in your lungs,

the bite

of frosted air,

the fire

clawing up

your quads

as you bend

like a

bull

to charge

that hill.

Sometimes you

need

the sop

of molded leaves

under foot,

the blur

of the gloaming,

to

taunt you,

to stab

like a spear

at

your will,

your desire.

The peak is your

red cape,

your breath,

a snort.

Sometimes you

need

The Defeat.

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