The will to stand up and fight
It grabs you by the neck
Clenching you in its teeth,
An iron bite
So you raise your dukes
And you tighten your stance
Your knees begin to bob and dance
Then, a swing and a shot
With mercy have not
A mighty blow
The chance lost to go
Blood on your lip
The taste of success from your last hit
The sound of a fall
From the now limp, broken doll..
Ice down your neck, now running
Weak in the knees
Look down at your hands and wonder
"Whose hands are these?
That can cause such pain
And leave nothing good to remain?"
You fall to your knees
And beg, never let this happen to me again..... please
These are reflections on my past, wherein I had tendencies toward problem resolution through violence..