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I win because it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to Father Time, as I stared at my shoes in the ICU that reeked of piss and 409, and I rationed my breaths as I said to myself that I'd already taken too much today, as each descending peak on the LCD took you a little farther away from me, away from me.
I win because you may tire of me, cuz our December sun is setting, because I'm not who I used to be, no longer easy on the eyes, but these wrinkles masterfully disguise the youthful boy below who turned your way and saw something he was not looking for: both a beginning and an end, but now he lives inside someone he does not recognize when he catches his reflection on accident.
I win because it's time for the final bout, rows of deserted houses, all our stable mates highway bound, give us our measly sum, getting the air inside my lungs is heavenly, starting out with nothing but crippling doubt, we'll rest easy justified, I've suffered a swift defeat, I'll endure countless repeats, the gift of memory is an awful curse, with age it just gets much worse, but I won't mind, I won't mind, I won't mind, I won't mind.
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