I think I have control by now; I know You want me to instruct you how to love. I lack the tools for idleness; I go Crazy when you weigh yourself above
Me. I know you're in the rink – I know you are! It's just my paranoia's acting out, And then I call you twice and go too far, That's just a macho, jealous, loving bout.
But still you love my fighting tender thoughts, And look in our shared corner when you're scared. But then the jitters, stomach ties in knots. No gloves came out each time an old love stared.
I do not care for who you used to love, Keep razor blades tucked in my boxing gloves.
boxing.
Author: Richard j Heby
0
Date: 24/02/2020
№ 1154240
We're Hot-Boxing Music
We're hot-boxing music And the Beat is pumping in me Through me Raw pure power Ripping through to my brain From the outside Hammering the internal Drums of my mind. Beat me Own me Use me There is none bar me And Music. Vibrations pour Into my body and soul The fragments of Movement The Essence of Emotion, old as Time, and evil As Sin.
It's been here since the beginning, And now is in this car.
There will be only one winner, But why? Why they both can't win? Why one has to be knocked out By another? Why one of them, By the end of the fight, has to have Hands raised in the air, in the glory And applause from the crowd, and another one Has to lay on the floor, ashamed, blackeyed, With cut, bleeding browridge? Why They two can't be winners? Why Separating them by weakness strenght, Why turning them against each other? Why man against man And brother against brother?
Draw into the hope of a missing river, Forever forgetting forever isn't for everyone. I wish I had another choice in the city full of choices, I wish I had another city in the world full of cities. I see these cities as see through seas untamed by those who see me as an uncalmable tide. At the midnight calling, I become uncontrollable. Like the statue, I collect and decay through natural forces, Like the status, I force nature to collect and decay. Poetic justice, No this just is poetic. Moments put into words that give rise to the false trigger of five senses that the consensus claims can't be sensed through anything but reality. The dream through words escapes the world in which limits are locked to five senses. Nonsense to university, No sense to individuality. This creates the individual. And their spirit lives in the flow of the Phoenix song, Lamented in the night air.
There was a little dog a boxer dog was he Hoping maybe one day a boxing champ would be He began to train with weights and a rope To be a world contender was his only hope He did a lot of jogging and little run Training very hard he enjoyed the fun Now the dog was ready and in the ring did go Ten rounds was the distance he took it nice and slow He was doing well the crowd begin shout Then one mighty blow his opponent was knocked out Dog he was so happy a champion was he Held his belt up high for everyone to see He was very proud his dream it had come true Now goes down history like all the boxers do
Now it boxing day and the bargains they are on Got to get there early before the bargains gone Standing in a cue waiting in a line Hope that its not raining and the weathers fine Waiting there for hours standing patiently Hoping that theres someting thats there left for me Until then i will wait for what i am looking for Take home with me until boxing day once more
