Dear Lungs,
Tomorrow, you will without as much as a word, do as I say.
- You will expand.
- You will contract.
- You will expel that sick when you can.
- You will fuel my system when I punch it.
Ready yourself because whether you like it or not, we’re going riding tomorrow. I will hear your burning cries, but the legs will have nothing of it. They (and the bike) are bored.
Notes
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