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Writer's pictureTheresa Baxter

I Run


I run

Not away from death

Towards the searing pain of breath

That makes me feel that I’m alive

Drumming heart that beats to thrive

Burning in my throat and lungs

Muscles twanging strings unstrung

Sweat is stinging salty tears

Leaking rivers into ears

Nose is dripping quite disgusting

Arms are pumping legs are thrusting

Against the wind and up that hill

Steaming hot I fight the chill

Slipping sliding through the slush

Whipping branches tangled brush

I check my watch it's almost done

Is this fun?

Who cares

I run


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