One day I’ll leave this cage, and leave nothing but

Two eyes lurking in the shadows, waiting for the clock to strike

Three, so that I might reenact this struggle of

Four lonely years locked in only my fear that

Five me’s would not be enough for you.

 

Six moons come and go before you commit sin

Seven, with little regard for the

Eight cries I’m holding in as I count crows of

Nine, that gather as the clock strikes

Ten.

 

Hush, hush, quickly, before it begins again.

 

One more hallucination that the world is made up of just us

Two; you shove it down my throat with

Three wicked fingers that make me wince

Four times before I draw the line at Five.

 

Six senses take me over, if only in my imagination that houses

Seven realities in which you take

Eight wounds delivered with

Nine easy strikes that come from my very own

Ten fingers.

 

Hush, hush, quickly, it’s time to breathe again.

 

One happy ending I’m determined to find for the

Two of me’s that you’ve created in the hell of just us

Three, where Four thousand screams have never been heard and

Five thousand tears have never dropped.

 

Six emotions; constantly churning what feels as though must be

Seven stomachs, all in disgust that I’ve let the clock strike

Eight again, while plotting

Nine ways to never see your

Ten temperaments again.

 

Hush, hush, quickly, the moon is sneaking up again.

 

But they say all I have to do is count to Ten.

Shyla Fairfax-Owen ©