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The Biker MAG
The whistling by my ears.
My hair thrust away from my face.
I can feel every crevice in the ground.
Every bump I cross
becomes a part of me.
My legs begin to burn,
I leave a path of flames in my tracks.
There's no turning back now,
I've come too far.
Ahead I go,
not alone.
The two of us,
me and my bike.
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