The Roar of the CrowdMature

A poem about a gladiator and what he goes through along with his thoughts, specifically his view on the crowd watching him.

The blood drips down my wounded hands
Onto the ground and onto the sands
The crowd roars with sick delight
Because I bleed and because I fight

Even with every man I ever killed
Their thirst for blood is never filled
They always want more blood to flow
They always want more lives to go

I stab and slash and try to live
They yell and cheer, their praise they give
And while I kill another man
They will smile and clap their hands

I'll ask the Gods for strength and luck
They'll lick their lips and pant and fuck
I'll dodge sharp swords that are made of steel
And the men will get out their cocks to feel

They don't care who lives or dies
As long as they see heads that fly
Their cheers will echo high and loud
While we die to the roar of the crowd

The End

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