Weaving to the pulse of a room.
The thick blend of sweat and passion is cast out to the hungry.
As the assault eases there is a moment of calm.
A deep breath before the machine gun fire.
Seconds before everything comes crashing down;
An onslaught you know well.
Heavy hits from limbs, belts, and bones as adrenaline
Allows you to give as good as you get and show that you care;
Show that you do this because you have to;
That the pulse owns all and has full control.
I salute those who can make a room implode;
Those who rip everything from you so you have to face it.
The bruises remind us that we were there
And we share the fallout,
Because we live for that ****.

I take myself too seriously to go up to eleven.

Wincing at the light, I deprive myself;
Take in an uneven frame.
With lowered brows and interminable thoughts
I pass it all by,

Float and reflect on the detail
Never seen,
Convinced I experienced it all,
Scratching in the rest;

I tear in the blue sky and smear the
Breaking waves;
I become more an object of scorn as the greens
And greys of the cliff side are marred,

Framed in the corner of an eye.