Sweat –

I'm slipping,

grasping on using the force of my fingertips

I reach behind me-

to find a crochet cloth bag containing reinforcement.

Chalk. It coats my hand with feelings of dryness –

and perspiration being drawn away.

I shift the position of my lower half, my weight source, strength source, 

trying to escape

the constricted position my body is trapped in 

Each route like a puzzle piece

waiting to be solved. 

Perhaps, only by someone more skillful 

than myself. 

Encouraging voices to push me forward,

float up like small bubbles of motivation.

Remy, and Dustin. 

Their voices sound out like two lonely hollers

in a silent crowd.

A simple phrase so much as "you can do this"

lifts me up inside and graciously springs me further onward.

I reach up once more,

to find the grainy surface of an inhospitable,

obsidian  handhold.

The pain encapsulates me,

the tiredness and weakness

of my forearms and legs.

I fall.

Out of despair – anger – and tiredness

A tough rope lowers me slowly to the familiar cushioned floor.

Sweat –

I'm slipping, 

grasping on using the force of my fingertips, 

yet this time

I hear the bubbles of motivation in my head,

and pull through.

Struggle the few feet left to the ceiling and congratulate. 

I have done what was the impossible in my mind,

just minutes ago.