Time.
Moves slower everyday.
Sitting in that classroom, where my wrist and that blade first met.
Not being able to speak, I take out the blade and towel.
The blade breaks through the skin, and you stare at me.
You then turn your attention to the board again.
I whisper thank you.
Sitting, cutting, I am watching the clock,
Taking it's sweet time.
Moving the blade, back and forth, blood floods into the towel.
Sitting here being bored as hell,
You flip through the pages while i glide the blade deeper and deeper.
Still waiting, the teacher tells us to clean up.
Boy do I have a lot to clean.
I wrap the towel around my arm, pull down the sleeve.
The bell rings. Class is over.
Well, it's about fucking time!
Author notes
true story, i cut in classes i get bored in
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Comments
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it is a great poem and you are not the only one that has done that..... i have 2
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