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the bell tolls
and
she's
down.
for the count
again
busted and broken
she smiles
that (now) toothless bloody grin
she drags herself up
for round three
or is it five?
she lost count again
spitting on the floor
bloodsplattered
saliva
staining
the endless grey
she staggers
across the mat
to her opponent
and swings her best
vainly hoping for contact
through
the switchblade storm
of blows
bludgeoning
bruised lips
and ashen cheeks
the void
holds
solstice
cowardly
and cold
but she narrows her eyes
blackened and swollen
and swings
once more
stubborn like a redwood
in the hurricane
standing stoic
amidst
the turmoil
she's losing
her breath
as leadened fists
find her abdomen
and she's falling
over
g.r.asping
at her dignity
like fireflies
on a moonlight night
but missing terribly
she fa[il]ls
slumping back
in misery
she accepets defeat
and smiles
that toothless grin again
head hung
she waits
for the final blow