Bloody Knuckles
Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of what I use to be.
Torn skin,
Scars and scabs,
Memories and
Reminders.
Of a time when I was young
And without ambition
Or caution.
Running through green forests
With friends chasing behind.
A root,
I trip,
And my fingers collide with the dirt.
The soil stings my
Bloody knuckles.
Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of what I use to be.
Torn skin,
Scars and scabs,
Memories and
Reminders.
I majored in Political Science,
But couldn't make the grade.
My effort fell short
And I fell into bad habits.
Days and nights
Spent alone.
Helpless
And at the same time
Overwhelmed.
Too much to drink,
I throw a punch
And the soft cheek of a stranger runs into my
Bloody knuckles
Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of what I use to be.
Torn skin,
Scars and scabs,
Memories and
Reminders.
I changed
My ways,
My life.
I was better,
But not much.
A few local fights
For local cash
And local bragging rights.
Then a few local wins
And a few wins
Far from home.
Oh how things had changed.
No longer did my fist collide with the face of
The poor and angry;
Now the skin of champions
Caressed and slammed my
Bloody knuckles.
Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of what I use to be.
Torn skin,
Scars and scabs,
Memories and
Reminders.
Now I sit
In a creaking chair
Alone once again.
If I had family they would visit me,
If I had friends they would call.
But I remain shut out
And fading fast.
No longer can I remember my girlfriends
Or the places I went
And the things I did.
The only things I hold on to
Is the memories tied onto
My wrinkly old hands
And my
Bloody knuckles
Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of me.
Copyright © Grace Freeman | Year Posted 2014
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