Bout With Regret

With each sullen punch
Heart and soul get's bruised
Lowering weakened defense
Myself, I will abuse

Ticker jabbed like a speedbag
Cruel phrases bounce it to and fro
Regreting; what parted cut lips
With each backhanded blow

Leather, worn soul, heavy bag tonight
Swinging, uncontrollably between hits
Cutting harsh words sting
Delivered by eight ounce mitts

Seems there is no counterpunch
To comfort anguish inside
Proceed to beat myself up
Until bloody and black eyed