Poetry

Weirdo

Looking at my fingers, counting
One
Will you cry the day I die,
Two
suffocated by words that wouldn't leave my mouth?
Three
Wouldn't leave my throat?
Four
Will they say nice things?
Five
Only after I'm gone, unable to hear them?
Six
Will they mean them?
Seven
Do I mean them?
Eight
These words
Nine
Stuck
Ten
Killing me
-Steven R. W.