one little bottle, fallen on my floor
two new handprints displayed Upon my door
three new reasons to beg you just to go
four new bruises that nobody will know
five new heartaches to hide another day
six more phone calls I wish would go away
seven more insults to make me feel so sad
eight more letters will make you oh so mad
nine more minutes to beg me not to leave
ten more self inflicted wounds for me to grieve
©katiecoady
K