The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses - behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights.
Muhammad Ali
Lost
Skidding.
Tender soles slipping against the harshness of life.
A gentle breeze reminds you,
Of the only softness you've known.
Fingernails,
Biting back into the roughness of your palm.
Blood trickles through your fingertips,
Heart pounds in your chest,
Bitter bile in your throat.
A frightened, wild animal, desperate for escape.
Run
Where to?
Frantic looks,
Desperation.
Mind whirls.
Endless possibilities
All lead
To the same dead end conclusions.
Fight.
For what you had.
What you want.
What will come again.
Fight with your soul
Your spirit
Your passion.
For if you don't?
It.
Will.
All.
Be.
Lost.
A/N: My first ever 100 word drabble. This little thought would not leave my brain, so I nailed it down to a page.
It seems to be happy here.
What do you think? I may do a few more if you think they're worthy enough.
I'm not sure where my writing style wants to take me at the moment.
I suppose just like the guys, I too, am a little lost.
Want to give us both a hand?
Rant, rave, review ... all that good stuff.