We dance a wicked dance.
Spining, ducking, weaveing.
We are parters of the same flag.
We survive it all, I watch your back, you watch mine.
Slicing, blocking, tradeing.
Such is the way of a fighter.
We train.
We fight.
We live to fight again.
We love.
We die.
Such is a fighters life.
One day, we got the idea in our head, to runaway.
For time immeasureable, we were peaceful.
But our former allies found us.
And the waltz of flesh and steel, the slow dance of carage, the Bloody Salsa continued.
Until the day we die, but we have each other still.
And so the Bloody Salsa is at least continued with reason.
And with this blood restful on my hands, I hold your face.
My equal, my rival.
My hope, my love.
My hero, my friend.
My conspirator.
My fallen comrade.
I get up, let loose what life I have left.
Obliterating all those who stood against us.
Killing me in the process.
And so the the eternally repeated dance called the Bloody Salsa is finally ended.
Ashlay, continue your fight to survive babe, I come for you soon…
Adrian Cordova
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bloody-salsa/
