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What an iron grip you have, red red boxing glove, that has seized me wholeheartedly, invading my thoughts like oil into water. You've caused this insomnia. You've shown me tough love. Retreat from these thoughts, at my behest, and release my dreamcatcher! Restless till waking hours, is it mere sleep I am deprived of? Dare you tease such an urge with a lean and bold stature, because in those waking hours I'm consumed and yet sick of your tauten embrace. Do you mock me? O how you taunt me, red red boxing glove. What spell have you cast to deny me to eat, to deny me to sleep. Such a labour of love that has me trapped in a muse. It's a seedy slammer with brilliant gold bars and a velvet bunk hung aloft; a confining comfort in which I barely recognize myself. But I want it, that red red glove. I need it. I want it. But can I stand it? O red red boxing glove, strike me, shove me, shake me. I've had enough! So wake me. I can see the blood that steadily sweats from my heart and begs to be let go of. But I can't feel a damn thing, and though I can't stand it, I need it, that red red glove. I want it. Dare not mock me! You love the fight, dear glove. You just want to fight. You don't care for a match. No, you're not ready for that. Well I await you tonight, sweet cupboard love, or I'll come find you all right. Because I'm ready for that fight. Hark! I said I'm ready to fight.
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