Corporate Downpour
I walk in circles till bleeding feet drip,
drip down stories
sliced and bruised from this barbed wire tight rope.
A malignant act of ballsy stunt person.
The trampoline you place below me looks promising.
But I know how you clowns work.
I fall,
forced by pain
safety at the bottom.
You,
pretending to run around
searching for the spot to catch me
the arena at the limit of their seats,
Then I close my eyes
and reach my destination.
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