Sweat

I don't know how universal it is,
But I feel
the most alive
When I've pushed myself half to death,
And the sweat
That pours off my brow
Is likely the last that I have.

Its a passion play

When my muscles scream promised pain
And I feel them tearing
So visceral
That I can imagine the
Sanguinary torrents
Flowing inside me.

Everytime
My heart is ripped
Bloody from my ribs
And I become a weepy
Pathetic lump
Lacking for self respect,
For some reason
The instinct to grab life
And squeeze it,
Break it and
Crush it,
So that I can consume what comes out
Cries out in my mind.

I really can't wait,
For the next time I'm hip deep,
In shit,
At some new existential nonsense.
And I have to reconcile
Some horrendous personality flaw
Or logical contradiction
So grievous
That the framework of who I am
Tumbles down once again

So when it hits the floor
I can stare up
And build to even loftier heights

I like when the sweat gets in my eyes.
When the salty sting promises
More punishment to come,
Any affirmation that reacts in water
Reminds me to breathe.

Because sometimes,
When I'm bored
I forget.