You punch me, hard, and as my head whips to the side, the wind leave my sails. My hands fall limply to my side, my eyes shutting tightly. You're right, of course- if I fight you, I'll fail. And I know this. The fight leaves me as you pick up the pace, and I know that soon you will reach your completion, spilling into me. Silently, I pray that when you do, it doesn't take root. I don't know if such a thing is possible- but the mere thought leaves shudders running through me.
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