The Road I travel,
it taunts.
I force myself forward.
I am weary.
The road is long and bitter,
it seems to never end.
It could be true.
Rocks block my path.
I collapse,
cut by thorns that coat the path.
I pick myself up.
I do not look back,
for that is the past.
I only run forward,
the only way I'll get any farther.
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