Perfectly Flawed

Every Minute

She watches you
Every minute
Of every hour,
Thinking always of something,
Even something minuscule,
To use as a tool
With which to cut your happiness.
She does this without care,
As though she were cutting air
Which cannot feel the pain
And cannot see the blood
And scars she leaves behind.
She spends every minute
Of every hour
Damaging reputations
Until they wilt and die
Like plants neglected.
She mercilessly critiques
And puts us up to scrutiny
Every minute
Of every hour.
Now, what's left of me
Is lying in a heap,
For it is useless now.
Every minute
Of every hour
Of its time in her presence,
It was dulled to nothing,
Cut carelessly,
As though she had been cutting air.