Seventeen
Seventeen and twenty five make forty two
But seventeen makes truth seem untrue
Split forty two smiles among days seven
Like breadcrumbs to the birds of heaven
Seventeen and a room and I feel
Like mathematics is not real
“number seventeen” on the room’s door
And seventeen years tossed on the floor
Seventeen and a cabinet, a corner dark
Seeking warmth from that suicidal spark
Seventeen bites is all I had today
And yet they threaten to through my throat fly away
Count the days and count the years, each smile
Add, divide, and multiply each drop of black bile
But there is no math or a cabinet in this room
Only me and me and me and me and my doom
Me and seventeen, seventeen and I
Seventeen lived, how many more to die?
Anonymous