That stacked, packed punch – ingenuous when spattered scintilla-tingly against
And it does tend toward coming back again and with a delicate and dedicated side-order of utterly uncontrollable chaos
Til his gloves come right down the way around his sorry sullen,
disgustingly impenetrable soul
The fight of a lifetime and it suddenly gets to turning itself upset-tingly inner toward discomforting dereliction
For this is the sacrilegious over-entitlement
Til unfathomably intertwined and it appears to be that these bare-naked, -knuckled, -buckled bodies are barely breathing anymore
But for bestial re-awareness
Two men, just one win left… in him
And finally, invitingly,
It all starts to make poisonous sense again within the basement of their wound-up minds aside haemorrhaging brains
Be patient
Don’t be a patient…
Brings with it all of the guidance only minus the living guilt
Ladies & mental-men,
Welcome to ‘The Blood Punch’ – the greatest living legacy about to unravel, unwind
Right in front of his wide awake and wired eye-line
Til forever held unforgettably within the power of one nemesis’s crunched, cranked up fist
Which carries with it an insatiable thirst for this fighting violence called life – about to heavily, heavenly, explode within the framed bone structure and visual blood-splatter of one famous face’s momentary implosion
Down upon his knees begging him, “please!”