Sport ist Mord. A poem.

I hurt.
Knees
Feet
Legs
Neck
Amrs.
They scream.
They cry.
Running.
It kills me.
And yet.
I do it.
I will.
Until I collapse into a crying heap screaming 'why?! why?!'


I was never very good at poetry. So here is a picture that shows you how I feel: