~ the shadow-boxing arena ~
There are days when things slip out of focus and smudge into imprecision. Shadows become larger than lit-up corners and words shout louder than deeds. It's almost as if a massive hang-over stings the edges of reality into drained out colors and distorted images . . . and as you bang your knee in every possible chair around, your mind keeps echoing "what was i thinking," "what was i thinking," "what was i..."
Well, i know it's gonna be shortlived and yeah, i know it will soon be over . . . but i do have the feeling i will be picking up broken pieces of glass with naked hands and hoping that a small drop of blood -- delicately forming in a tiny spot of throbbing skin -- will remind me that, once again, i'm alive.
It's always precious things that make us whole again.
Well, i know it's gonna be shortlived and yeah, i know it will soon be over . . . but i do have the feeling i will be picking up broken pieces of glass with naked hands and hoping that a small drop of blood -- delicately forming in a tiny spot of throbbing skin -- will remind me that, once again, i'm alive.
It's always precious things that make us whole again.