A Fourth Manly Poem
Persecuted without cause. I am stateless. No choice but to persevere.
The world around me simultaneously moving too fast, too sludgy.
I am beyond the reach of reality, but latent expectations court their tolls.
My heart weighs heavy, my legs move as if shackled. Each breath may be my last, but I will not give up. I'll never relent to the travails of this battle. Though demons plague me, I hold onto hope that liberty might prevail. One day.
Until then, every second is a victory. Anything more, a triumph!
On the other hand, it's just a cold.
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