Gloves

The gloves, you know the ones.
The ones that hold my hands in the flames, the ones that free me from my anger.
They are the fire blanket to my anger, they are the peace to my blaze.
The gloves, you know the ones.
The ones I drive my anger into, the ones tangled into my hands, that absorb the shock of pain.
They are like trees against the flood, they are like rubber bands.
The gloves, you know the ones.
The ones that are as dark as blood, the ones that are as strong as bones.
They are as dark as my soul.
They are my soul.
The gloves, you know the ones.
The ones that are plastic with darkness covering them.
They are smooth and large over my angered hands.
The gloves, you know they ones.
The ones that wrap my wrists in strong velcro.
They are cushioned to absorb the shock pain.
The gloves, you know the ones.
Everlast imprinted in white bold letters.
Everlast through pain.
Everlast. The gloves, you know the ones.