No Title...(its crap)

Here I stand,

Wounded is my hand.

Hard, cold metal biting my palm,

Blood oozing from its inner realm.

Pain asks me let it go.

But victory stands forth, I know.

This cold metal pulls me with might,

If I relax, I am washed in the tide.

I need to hold.

I need to stand.

Pain is immense

Mighty pull force, jerks my defense.

I can’t get pulled or let go.

Both ways it’s the victory of my foe.

I need to hold the ground.

Be firm and keep the metal bound.

Victory is just moments away,

Then I shall tell whose the boss anyway.

A loud command, “TYSON…. NOOO!!!”.

& victory reeled in with all its glow.