A Special Kind of Torture
By: Jim Kienholz
I ignore the fear.
Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.
I check the board
Oh Lord….
The evil one …..Fran
Will she make me a he-man
Or make me beg for my afghan
My heart wants a PR.
My brain wonders about the ER.
With a barbell in front of me
Misery loves company.
But given my druthers
I wouldn’t trade this band of brothers.
The music may be blaring but I hear not a peep
Before the 3…..2…..1…..Beep
21-15-9
Put it all on the line
My mind forgets the world
As the reps are unfurled
Where did the oxygen go
With all this to and fro
I must endure this pain
To be master of my domain
Or I could just be insane
To desire this strain
The end of the line
When I yell…TIME
I collapse to the floor
Not having any more
I am no longer fearful
For I see my sweat angel
A Special Kind of Torture they shout.
Will they see me tomorrow? Without a doubt.
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Jim, I hope you got the flow to go with those rhymes.. I interpreted your poem as a “rap” and I’m pretty sure I interpreted right.
They must call you lil jim for a reason.
There needs to be an 8 Mile-style rap throwdown at Roots immediately.