The art of fighting

You told me to stop fighting
And now every single morning
Has become a new fight
Against the fact
Of not fighting anymore
And letting it all go.
I’ve always considered myself
As a good tiger full of living drops
Always ready to take another round
Never running somewhere else.
So when you told my heart
To keep its own map
My soul drew a line
Between the clouds
Of my alcoholic mind
Making me feel like everything
Just slows down,
And tiny
Pieces of my soul,
Fragments of old poems,
Keep surging searching for you.

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