THE PRICE IS GOING UP

[redcheekdays]

My heart likes to start fights with
the inside of my ribs where everyone loses.
For weeks, my lungs have been
purple punching bags. My stomach
is being polished into a wood panel floor.
I’m selling tickets to my own heartbreak.
Blood and broken noses are what put
bodies in the seats.
These are real bar brawls, ladies and gentlemen.
Nothing is staged, here. Sure,
there have been a few–
accidents.
The kind of hits you don’t get back up from.
But that’s the price of business, isn’t it?
And don’t you want a show?