Ring Side Seats

Bullet holes and death

I know better than my therapist.

Stare at me before you diagnose me

Talk a little, hear my tales.

Matter of fact let me help you,

Pick you up from your pity stupor;

That abuse you’ve poured

Takes its toll .

Round six of this fight and

I’m floored.

You’ve toured my mind

What do you think?

Blood splattered on the ring

Think this congested chest

Is worth my end?

Tell me when I return.

I’ve learned to dodge and

Weave, roll if I have to

Take the abuse down low

With my guard up

Speak from your chair

I’ve had enough.