swooping down from above

large sinewy wings flap horrendously above my head
there are creatures whose teeth bare blood and flesh
their capabilities are far more than what i assumed last week
outrunning them is a challenge in itself, in the end, i know i'm weak
my legs are pencil-thin, my arms, too, i'm like savory fresh meat
but i run, and run, and run, i refuse yet to be deceased, to be dead

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