Pretence.

4/3/09
Both my knee’s are on the ground
Getting grazed but I don’t care
And I won’t let my scream fill the air
I have only once and I plan to keep
it that way.
‘Cause I don’t let my anguish escape
through my mouth,
My fists hold my pain and I hit
and I hit again
and the bag glares right back at
me as I bruise my hands.
The bag is my worst enemy
and I just can’t stop my fists
The bag is the world
and my fists are crying now
But I won’t let my eyes shed a tear
Out of breath I can’t believe there’s still more
inside after all that hitting
I’m not relieved.
I can still feel the pain
eating at my bones and giving my throat lumps
I just have to swallow a pill to feel
and then all I feel is hell at my heels,
is an explosion in my stomach
creeping up my insides
up my throat, in my saliva, on my tongue,
always on my mind and in my eyes I hide,
‘Cause I just swallow and I just smile,
and I just hit the bag and I just cry in the shower
so I can pretend it’s just the water on my face.