One Drip To Death Poem by mathew saighman

The light slowly fading,
i saw that familiar puddle,
so dark and black,
i looked back to my wrists,
saw that smooth cut,
so fine under the blanket of blood.
i see this everyday,
each time looking so new,
i never seem to know why though,
that little trickle of blood,
letting it fall in that puddle,
turning so dark inside.
when i am done i clean the puddle,
the rag covered in red,
i grab my arm bands,
slip them over the fresh slashes,
pull my sleeves down around them,
throw the towel in the was and leave.