The walls grow ever more
slippery – steeper, mocking;
forcing me back;
down into my place
among the grime and the rot.
But my spirit is spitfire!
Ragged and torn as I am,
imbued with fierce determination
I ascend once more,
nails like claws; gripping like talons
seeking purchase and escape
from the monotony;
the bleakness of the rat race.
I will climb. I will rise.
Even if I must climb out of this pit
A million times,
my desire will prevail.
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