I shuffle feet wrapped in electrical tape across a dirty concrete room. I split my knuckles on soft edges of rubber and adhesive. My lungs snag on air thick with summer suburbia. I spit dizziness through plastic teeth.
It's just me and my punching bag for months at a time. Reinforced with hundreds of blood stains, sweat spatters and sliced skin. It stinks like mandatory work. It drips misplaced pride. It accepts everything silently, and I can hide nothing from it.
10:38 p.m. - 2015-08-31
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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