The burning smells of napalm
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fill the air as the napalm's fire cooks fresh meat.
I race towards the fence
bordering the edge of the apartment complex.
The rival Complex looms over me like a prison
were my friend lives.
As some of The bully goons guard the forest entrance
I prepare to enter the Warzone.
I gear up like a professional soldier
slinging the backpack over my shoulder.
Taking a final quiet breath
I head into the Complex.
Sticking to the shadows that the buildings throw
I move like a ninja
inching towards my friend's cell.
My eyes dart back and forth
alert for any sign of the goons movement.
Dogs barking and sirens blaring
alert the goons to my presence.
I make a maddened dash back towards the fence
The goons hot on my heels
shouting in tongues!
A mere 7 feet from the fence i am captured.
Tackled by the goon's leader, Big Boss!
The goons grunt in rhyme
as I am systemically "Tortured"
The Boss; having his bloody knuckled fun
finally tosses me, broken, over the fence.
I head back to my apartment
to nurse my injuries.
The battle is his
but the war will be mine.
I'll play with my friend yet.
if the pen is mighter then the sword then the word processer must be mighter then the missile