Fighter

He sat in a corner, all hunched up and scared.

His eyes red and streaming from his cloudy mind.

His jeans ripped just as his cheek is;

His hair mangled just as his shirt is.

Blood takes it’s time working a path down his grimace.

The drip zigs and zags on the crevices that make his face,

Finally swerving into his mouth where he savored the taste.

His teeth now dyed with the oozing red liquid,

He stood up out of the corner.

His hands stroked the wall as he went;

His breath getting harsher with each step.

His stained teeth, now grinding white,

His eyes now shut tight.

 

His face relaxed and tightened again

His blazing blue eyes blocked,

By the hair that has fallen.

His feet stopped walking,

His heart kept pounding,

His fist hit the wall.

The paper tore,

His body bore...

Through all the pain.

His mirror showed who he really was

He looked upon the fight

His eye darted to the side

Where the fist came from

A hit to the head,

It’s a knockout

Dead.

 

His eyes widen

His mind is hidden

He wasn’t in a ring

Here comes someone

The fight’s not done

And now he’s pinned.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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