Running My Mouth, Running Aground


Ground rushing to meet me.

Paralyzed, completely.

Landing, with limbs in a pile.

I lie here astounded.

Aggrieved, but firm grounded.

Resultant, of tempers gone wild.

I challenged the alpha.

Resenting his pallor.

An offence, not worth the price.

He finished me neatly.

Upended repletely,

With injuries requiring ice.

Youth is a bastard.

Increasing the hazard,

Of making choices so poor.

Next time I’ll give sway,

To an alternate way.

And my mouth, a locked door.


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