Friday, 5 October 2012

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

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