When you know you performed dirty. When each step feels as if you’re by it’s mercy. When the stretch becomes unbearable as another person’s thinking. When you’re wincing like something kinky. But you like the pain. You worship the ache. And you speak about it to everyone so you can own and grow with it. You’re the Master of your Domain. So you poke. You stroke. And you knead hoping you’ll bleed. And you finalize the feeling by squeezing down like a clamp with your bare fingers digging in for gold and afflicted victory.
When every swelling, pulse and voluminous beat come from below the belt, right behind the knee. When your heart is somewhere else other than where it should be. When you do something that is out of character like Hope the spasm you feel won’t cramp during the slumber Charlie Horse of night. And if during the day someone bumps your shoulder you would just pass on the fight while coming to terms of the decision between a Yolk or a few Egg Whites.
When you have an obsession that’s hard to manage because your mind can’t let it go. It’s your inspiration, the reason why you live, the structure of your art, your Bio. When you must calm training an area down but definitely OD on another as if you discovered a better lover. When the Gastroenemius has taken on a beast of it’s own. And now I must weather the aftermath “Muscle Fever” until the storm quiets in the Hard Candy of my Zone.