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Just a short poem. No title.
I don't really know what to think, these days it's as if my mind likes to drink.
So scrambled and lost, what will this cost?
An arm, a leg, a limb, will I ever win?
It's truly hard to understand why I'm beat with the struggle of a broken hand.
Bruised skin and broken bones will lead my way, as I push through every day.
Coming back stronger than before, I know they can't stop me anymore.
