His legs were pedaling hard and his heart was beating fast,
He's got his scars; He can't outrun his past,
Down the hill he goes, wind whipped his hair, a new style with each draft.
He broke his brakes long ago; He cut the cable and ripped off the pads.
He cried songs of joy and love as the world became a blur,
He learned to balance his weight; He finally learned to let go,
He would return the car's embrace, but the horn was all he heard.
He learned to lie to everyone; His grin was just for show.
He thought he heard church bells ring as he felt the rising lightness,
His inner demon took control; He said it was the form of a cyclist.
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Small poem off the top of my head. I didn't do what I set to do, but I said what I wanted to say.