Underdog

My ass is taking a beating. I’ve taken uppercuts all weekend. Overhand rights. Haymakers. Jabs. Combinations. Body shots. Kidney punches. Heartstoppers. My eyes are raw liver. My smile in a thousand pieces, my teeth rolling across the carpet like a roll of the dice. My nose a flattened, bloody snot rag. My jaw hangs sickeningly across my neck. My ribs are purple and blue. My heart hurts. I can barely stand. My knees are weak. My brain spins. And the shots continue at a furious pace.
The flesh rips and hangs from the bone. I pry the bones from the meat, trying to keep all in place, and sinew tears and cartilage snaps and I’m dripping skin, gushing black blood.
I’m a mess.
I want to retire, retreat, disappear. I want to be left alone. I am sick and fucking tired of people in general. The whole fucking lot of ‘em. I require nothing but space, peace, solitude, understanding and a modicum of intelligence if I chance upon another member of humanus walkus erectus, but I’m having trouble finding any of the above, anything remotely resembling those requirements despite herculean efforts to the contrary.
I give. And I give. And I’ll keep on giving. I need love. All I want is love. Gimme gimme some lovin’... Patience is dwindling cause the hits they just keep on a-comin’. When am I gonna come out growling? Or better yet, when will I rise above this misguided reproach, this insipid negligence, these scurrilous attacks, and leave them behind like yesterday’s aberrant thoughts?
Workin’ on it.
More fight resides in this boy. This match is far from over. And I’m gettin’ mightily pissed. I’ll get a second wind. You’ll see it in my eyes. You’ll smell it on my breath. You’ll hear me comin’, a freight train raging out of control. You’ll feel it when I connect. I’m gonna kick the fucking door down and stomp on the terror. Stomp on it til it acknowledges me.
Beware the fury of the patient man.