Empty and dark, the weight room in the desert, rational thoughts and emotions collide
I’ve been here before.
Thought bubble pops, cursive emerges even though I don’t know the alphabet
“You fucked that conversation up, you lost all your cool.”
Your plan is out the window once you get punched in the face.
Broken treadmill sounds are a crazy violation of my space. As fast as it goes. Heartbeat elevation is my drug. Fiending.
8 seconds at a time, the sweat can’t catch me.
Exploding feet, 100 miles and runnin on flying rubber
Arrows up, steep incline, battling me through screeching beeps
and mechanical taps, still no relief.
Form over function or function over form? Bloody red thoughts from the day
Boom, bang, pow….I’m high and Thursday’s a ghost, rest is work, I fancy myself a workaholic, I sleep
Damn.
It is not often you read something raw and unfiltered, and, while you have to respect the pain that created it, you can’t help being enriched by experiencing the truth of another human being.
Kap thank you for sharing this. Stream of consciousness writing is deep personal marginally subconscious tool for mental health blah blah blah.
Thanks again, —– Chester
This is poetry. At its finest.
Thx Kap!
I couldn’t help but be transported back to early-morning swim workouts, where I’d have similar thoughts while staring at the line on the bottom of the pool.
Thing is; that first taste of success from the process makes it all worthwhile.
Thanks for the reminder!