busted down and bloody,
sore and beat,
breathe deep the musty air,
into your insomniac-tired lungs,
grab hold of some metal,
and set fire to your body,
dance with the pain,
dig down deep into the darkness,
feel the sadness twist and kick,
stickin' and movin'
pushin' and throwin'
don't listen to the screaming voices of the early morning,
the middle of the day,
the late night,
it's just Makyo,
work it out,
exorcise it,
minute to minute,
this daily meditation,
of beating back the bad Self.
it wants to keep you hurt,
and apathetic,
so you remain nothing,
drowning in drama,
unrealized,
concealed,
inauthentic,
it's the source of your problems,
monks call this the "ox,"
so you need to tame it,
it's going to be hard,
everyday,
it's a mean ox,
so it's ok to cry,
but don't let the ox win.
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