Top Of The World, Bottom Of The Bottle

Duration

2:41

Genres

Spoken Word/Perf. Poetry

Description

Lyrics

Sinister gray concrete and green lockers... A hideous combination. Two long fluorescent bulbs barely light the fighter's dressing room. It's damp and dark... like a tomb. A trainer walks in, followed by a boxer in his mid twenties... bloody and bruised from the fight. Trainer: You had to work for it tonight. That was one tough son of a bitch, Jimmy. All that work to the body paid off in the end. Jimmy clutches at his ribs as he slumps down on the bench . Jimmy: He gave as good as he got. He holds out a taped up hand. Jimmy: Where's the bottle? The trainer hesitates, then tosses over a fifth. Trainer: You're a helluva a fighter... a helluva a fighter, but you can't keep going like this. Do yourself a favor and take it easy, huh? Jimmy takes a defiant drink... and another. Jimmy: I just got the shit beat out of me for ten rounds. Trainer: But you won... and you were half in the bag before the fight even started. Put more time into training and you'll be fighting for the title in no time. There's not a doubt in my mind... that belt would be yours. Jimmy: That belt was mine... Trainer: You're still young... it could be yours again. Jimmy stares down at his swollen hands and the half empty bottle nestled between them... Jimmy: Can't you just leave me be? He takes another swig... Jimmy: I went through hell tonight... Trainer: Jimmy... listen to me. I'm telling you this as a friend... There are no answers in the bottom of that bottle. If you don't moderate, you will disintegrate. The vision begins to fade, spiraling outward and degenerating into nothingness.