The number of times he had sex last week
The stairs he counts
Numbers click and clash and collide like looking at a collage on LSD.
Numbers in the bright
Numbers in the dark
The number of taste buds he uses to consume the number of items on his plate.
The number of times he cried as a child
a statistic, a number.
A toe-tag. He actually sits there and thinks about wearing one.
How the numbers haunt his life and will haunt him in death too.
This creeper this predator, rest he will not!
Starving life starving, starving!
The blackened numerals on his stark white bed sheets
leer, jeer, tease, taunt.
The days dump black as his family and friends watch the horror trailer play out in front of them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem