front row

i get paid to fight. the sight of a few teeth knocked out, gingivitis gum punctuation, a comma of blood across 16 characters, doesn't bother me. i have no problem watching them writhe on the floor, early-onset cte kicking in, just as hereditary as anything else. i get told what to do and when and it's done. i've lost, obviously. i'm nobody special in comparison to some of the kinds of people fighting here, who act like it's their last day on earth. last time to say i love you to their opponent. mark their jaw with your fist so the corpse is identifiable.

they let me watch, whenever i want, for free. the front row seats are worse than any other. barricades block my vision and i get snapshots of what's happening from other sources, but i never get to truly see. a daguerrotype of pain yet i never get to feel the knockout. i wish i were in there, ruining my own life, but i just get to watch. through shitty phone cameras and polaroids i see glimpses of the life i want to live more of. i'm out there all of the time, but i feel like ive never truly experienced it. i don't think i ever will. the last thing i ever want to do is stop chasing that high. i refuse to give up on a future i know i won't see.