Every Night At Half Past Three

Every night at half past three

A funny thing occurs,

My scars all bubble to the top,

Some deep and sad,

Some slight, some made myself,

Some raw and never healing,

If I were to reach and switch on the light,

They’d run away and sink once more,

But in the dark, I can feel their roughness,

Their bumps, the caverns,

Each one earned, each one sliced through

Gritted teeth.

Every morning as the sun comes up,

A funny thing occurs,

My scars no longer show,

And I smile through gritted teeth.

bobby stevenson 2012