The fight tires. No matter how good a warrior a person is, I could not stay in the battle all your life. It is best to let go, to heal. Let that pain come out, run where you have to run. Inside, hidden: destroy. There is no evil that lasts a hundred years or a body that can resist it. Let it go...
Your poem is like a scream. As the sensation that comes again the "coconut" knows how to intimidate, because crushe. Strength, honey! I hug you, @firststeps!