"The Man in the Sand" by Joshua Kahn
I'm standing in a room.
The walls raised high around me.
Too high for me to see out.
This place seems (familiar) new.
Things begin to come into focus.
I'm standing on a floor (made of) covered in sand.
I can feel the grains of sand deep under my fingernails.
This is not my (last) first time here.
More becomes clear.
The drying blood (on my hands) in the sand (on my hands).
I've been fighting.
Not for sport.
Fighting for (someone) something.
I just can't remember (who) what.
My body’s numbness subsides.
The pain begins to return.
It's (sharp) dull, (stiff) loose.
I (can't) can manage it.
The pain sends back more.
Now I can focus.
I see I'm not alone.
There's (someone) something face down.
A motionless (body) blur.
I remember now.
Why I'm fighting.
I'm fighting to (break) fix something.
But no matter how hard I try to (break) fix it, I lose.
Not this time.
This time I win.
I know it in my heart.
It's the one thing I'm sure of.
I can hear the (booing) cheering.
There are people above these walls.
They are hidden in the (darkness) light.
I unclench my fists.
Blood comes from my palms.
Where my nails dug into my hand.
I turn to leave.
Let out a long sigh.
Then I feel (someone) something move.
Behind me in the sand.
Down to one.
I turn slowly.
A fist crashes into my head.
I'm sent falling to the ground.
As I (fail) try to get up.
I'm fighting because I'm (broken) broken.
But I don't know (who) what I'm fighting.
I just want to know (who) what the fuck I'm fighting.
Another (loss) night.
Another (loss) fight.
Another (loss) loss.