Roll with the punches

 

The punches rain.

Blow after blow after thundering blow.

I'm staggering,

to and fro,

like I'm drunk on the pain.

Am I addicted to the way

I feel when I'm falling?

I keep climbing up,

just to get knocked back down again.

 

I try to dodge the incoming fist.

I swerve, but it still connects.

Split lips, blood spit

on the matte carpet

and my vision

is getting wavy.

Hazy dream-like stains

fog my eyes,

as the heavy blows

continue to rain.

 

Storm clouds form upon my skin.

Caked in red.

A fight I don't want to win.

Seeing in threes,

like I’m lost in a forest

and can't discern the trees.

My head pounds,

thudding fuzzy vision,

faraway sounds.

Breathing fire.

I perspire, beginning to tire.

 

The punches keep coming.

Bang, bang, bang.

Slamming into jaw.

Bruised purple eyelids hang,

but I won't fall anymore.

I dodge the blows,

I focus and avoid the fists flying low.

I don't give in, no towels are flying.

I just stand tall,

ignoring thre blinding lightning, 

the aching screaming

of my shattered chin.

I resist and I await

the bell that rings,

so that I can walk away

and focus on better things.

 

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"

100+ all new poems not shared here before.

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle