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Sick, tired of defeat at his hand.
I work day after day, night after night to be his match.
To try and break the curse of failure, I must prevail.
Now I can bench 100 lbs, but now he is benching 115 lbs.
Now I run a mile in 6 minutes, but now he runs it in 5.
I am defeated again, and again.
It seems no amount of blood, sweat, and tears is enough to break the spell.
Shall I give up? Is there any hope?
If there is I must find some, I cannot allow my spirit to be broken.
I take one last look in the mirror for the night and see him staring right back at me.
You’re going down, and going down soon.
He seems amused but he won’t be laughing for too much longer if I have anything to say about it.