A quarter pass three

April 19, 2012
Everyday around quarter past three,
you burst into the bathroom searching for me,
I get hidden by your mother while you are away,
hidden, unused for most of the day,
I feel your anger as your hand grips me tight,
I'm the one & only thing that helps you sleep at night,
I live to put scars upon your wrist,
I leave my mark I'm proud of this,
I watch as the beautiful red blood pattern drips,
and runs off the ends of your fingertips,
what possesses humans to act like this,
to scream, cry & cut their wrists,
but for now my job is clear
the reason that I was brought here
to relieve the pain
to sit by the window and watch the rain,
up until around quarter past three
when you burst into the bathroom searching for me...





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