welterweight

The ring was warm when I slowly split the ropes. It still smelled like a sweaty brawl, to the death. Though that was to come. And it was, all quiet til she stepped in. Bell 1! For whom it tolls, must be my thoughts carried away. My corner screams, but bleeds into my ears is nothing less than she. Bell 2! To win, all I could do was lay down the gloves. Taking punches left, then right. I felt myself breaking a sweat. Then the final blow, a jab to my torso that bled internally. Bell 3! I had to die, despite unwilling will inside. Bell 4! Now dead – I finally relent to the flurry of images, ideas, irrationalities inside my head. Cut me… There was no choice when you get in a boxing ring with the bold, the deft, Mo Creativity.

A funny thing how I’m not a good writer. And yet – the words lose me in time and dreamless reverie of days gone by and yet to come, though not mine.

and I end up staying up all night… to fight. (4:42 AM)