Song 24: Dear Angel of Mine by April Sixth
Chest heaving, sweat seeping into her eyes and burning, bloody bruised knuckles, and copper-tinted spit coating her tongue and pooling in her mouth. Barefoot, skin ripped and rubbed out in patches, purple and red and green shins and forearms. Soft to hard spots, hard to soft spots, hard hissing exhales on contact and harsh yells on killing blows. Heat radiates from slick skin and the loose gi pants stick and she is down to her black sports bra, her body bare of jewelry, his ring and necklace and other visible possessive marks hidden away.
Her mind is finally, blissfully blank, she is only her body – stretching, straining muscles layered on top of bone under skin – jab cross hook uppercut jab jab cross hook. She is high middle low roundhouse and knee strikes and chicken kicks and block block block. She is aching and burning and just about to die. She is physical because mental and emotional are too hard too far too much. She doesn’t come back until she’s flat on her back, glued to the floor by dried sweat, every limb trembling. If only isn’t enough and her wishes have fallen on deaf ears. She peels herself off the floor, leaving more skin cells and DNA behind. She picks up her duffle bag and shoes and walks to her car, leaving the jewelry under her dirty clothes at the bottom of the bag.