#digits
The clock gets me.
It comes to me in the middle of the night
Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko."
Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids,
It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters
Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint
Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever
The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go
Out to do something, whatever something is.
Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so
Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me
Again.
And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock
In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your
Boyfriend, say
Fighting the Nazis, say,
Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to
That rando guy we met in that club that lives
in Prague-
I throw the clock at the ******* wall.
Because who knows, I make the bed wrong
Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or
Smile the right way at the right
Time. And you start thinking that I have to die.
The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your
Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're
Supposed to be, say
Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of
David Attenborough.
Instead you're thumbing through that index
of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face
To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes
A feat, an unjust cause of mine to
Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've
Been sewing up Monday twilight.
That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between
A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
I pulled them, I snipped them off,
She loves me, she loves me not,
With each pull a muffled scream
Then the snip,
Deep terrified Agonizing scream
Pain,
Blood,
Bone,
Then its thrown on the floor,
One of many, not many more to go,
"Do you love me"
NO
"She loves me not"
Another one broken, then left till
The next one is snipped off,
She thinks is she the only one?
Looks behind,
To see jars labelled loved me not,
So many before, the same question
"Do you love me"
"No you do not"
He called them his petals,
But where was the stem they had come from,
He came to find her still,
The question asked
"Do you love me"
YES
"She loves me,"
"She loves me not"
A petal did not fall upon the floor
He looked with head at an angle,
You love me?
After what I have done,
She smiles through the pain,
I always did love you,
I needed to see how far you would go,
With that he slowly undid the straps,
A bandage for her digits missing
Now lying blooded on the floor,
She had seen it behind,
He had give her a drink,
"She was so close to being free,"
He had a look in his eye,
As she turned
She heard a different rhyme
"Miss Polly had a dolly"
"&"
"Its"
"Head"
"Fell off"
Last words spoke, as no digits removed
"Instead a head rolls along the floor"
A stem lies bleeding
The face frozen in shock
As the head added to the heads fell off jars,
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
Tonight, I met the winter breeze,
She flew as if a body deceased..
She told me stories of the past,
And talked about fories of the vast..
We were meeting after long,
So we sat there singing some old songs..
She still had many places to visit,
The dates she left me all in digits..
I saw her go,
My flaws followed so..
I was in a trance,
Could not see her prance..
I was dreaming,
When she was leaving..
And when she left,
I got swept..
By the waves,
In the caves..
I had died,
And my body had been pried..
She came again,
And took me in vain..
For my soul stayed,
Where my dreams had been slayed..
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 12:26 PM UTC
Numbers are something I used to adore,
They never changed—always the same.
I loved how they opened this door—
To a world with nothing being tame.
I liked being organised, in perfect rows,
Everything right, it had to be clear.
But now I know that it comes and goes,
And numbers can whisper what I fear.
They ARE everywhere—I used to smile,
Counting stars or tiles or days.
But now each digit feels like trial,
Measuring me in all these ways.
There are too many numbers in my mind,
Each thought a sum and each move a test.
Even my body is redefined,
By math that doesn’t let me rest.
I calculate all the words I say,
Their weight and worth, what they cost me.
I never thought I’d feel THIS way...
But numbers tell me who to be.
May 26, 2025
May 26, 2025 at 9:31 AM UTC