Imprint of a Fist


Enraged words and indulged voices persist.
Below the cage of slander and distress,
There stands precision battling a fist.
Despair fuels his obsession to suppress.
Hues of disfigured purple paint his jaw.
Thick crimson plunges down his weary throat.
Endurance throbs through him, his body raw,
While his mind drifts to a declinal note,
"Thanks for your interest but dot, dot, dot."
Collision with his head scrambles his thoughts.
Outsiders watch his struggle for a shot.
Abundant green has him tied up in knots.
The trauma of fists is all he does know,
Debrief his father he will tell you so.

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