I try to count the ceiling fan blades as they swirl around,
People thought this was cute when I was small,
Especially when I was clocked in the head while counting upon a top bunk,
I'd hear voices behind me sometimes that seemed like a distant echo in a tunnel,
All I could focus on was the whir of the fan.

This interest in fan blades extended to wheels,
As cars would drive by I'd match the rhythm of the engine to the movement of the wheel,
It wasn't cute anymore,
While the voices behind me shifted tones I tried to pull myself away from the passing Toyota out of the window,
ADD was the only word that stuck,

While my therapist would talk I'd focus on her flickering desktop lamp,
Which was uselessly consuming energy to light an already lit desk,
Occasionally she'd say my name a few times and click her pen,
But it wasn't until she'd switch the lamp off leaving me only 7.5 seconds to hear its buzz and see it's dimming flicker,
That I could focus on her words,
And as the phrase 'no improvement' escaped her lips the only things I could think of were synonyms,
I turned one over and over in my mind
Failure.

When we'd walk I'd let his sweaty hand slip into mine,
Ignoring the manual moisture,
Instead I'd focus on his pulse,
Its rhythm kept me at bay,
It suspended me there in time,
Away from fans and wheels and reality
My focus solely on him,
So I'd lie still and listen to his heart beat,
Feeling a smile creep to his face,

I am no longer lost at sea with my focus however I'm not in bay,
I lie in the gulf bouncing between presence and absence,
My therapist who is now the only person that can speak to me and tolerate my pace,
Says I've improved,
But instead of focusing on the synonym Win,
I focus on making my brain push against the strain of the pill.

The voices behind me are now completely gone unless made my main focus,
I can not smile and verbally respond simultaneously,
I no longer have the speed to count my fan blades,
I focus on his heartbeat quicken with anger as he shouts,
I cannot love a zombie.