#themellets

when your knees punch the ground      its an electric shock pain feels deafened, numbed by the first five fingers      forced into a fighter's fist   crackling knuckles, they tuck you into bed at night.     is it night? it seems dark to you, a dreamer awake with something vacant in your eyes.         and you know that when the storm tires,            rain splattered on the hood,  silence has never felt this good.   then again,   back to back,   bone on bone,           mental gears grinding,       this screaming chorus of machinery, the oil on the ground is brighter than it's supposed to be.     tell me if this is what hand raised is supposed to mean.