I ride a bounding tiger rampant in a field of shame. His fur is made of razor wire; I grip it all the same

He tries to throw me down to the cutting grass below; there to lay me open there to lay me low.

My teeth they grind and gnash, my gut turns and knots; he twists with might beneath me, muscles clenched and taut.

I know that he is hungry, his teeth sharp to bite, still I ride the tiger, heels and hands they fight.

The tiger takes his toll as we roll and bound in strife; my will to stay aboard, his to take my life.

Our yen and yang are tied morning noon and night. I go where he takes me, I dare not stop the flight.

For some the beast is anger, others lust or fame, but each ride their tiger though others know not its name.