Sixty-three fourteen twenty-eight nine
There’s safety in numbers, in systems and signs
Fifty eighty-seven thirty-one two
I hate how nothing can distract me from you.

Should I count leaves or snowflakes or teardrops as they fall
should I count memories or things I shouldn’t remember at all
Or knots or skid marks or every tangled complication
or words or carparks or each scarlet sensation

Maybe heartbeats and songs and the plans for tomorrow
promises and keychains and the stuff that you borrowed
Rainbows and flowers and chocolate-covered lies
battle scars and splinters and dry-eyed goodbyes

Touches or kisses or earrings or hairpins
spirits or souls or floortiles or tailspins
The times when I waited, broke down and then waited some more
the moments you made me feel like never before

Candles and Tshirts or secrets and mind games
theories and sandals or lighters and pet names
There’s so much more that I should add to the list
but does any of it count when it no longer exists?

‘… One two three four five
Once I caught myself a life
Six seven eight nine ten
Living it made me die again.’