He is obsessive if not compulsive too... <br />He can't sleep because he has to clean his sheets <br />As he dirties them with just the slightest nap... <br />Compelled by voices unheard by you and me <br />He spends his days washing his hands and counting.... <br />Always counting....#148 #197 #206 # 311 <br />His life is a wasteland of bad sonnets and haikus <br />He is dying to escape but is afraid to touch <br />The doorknob of his two rooms one window flat.... <br />His only salvation is a narrow from behind the glass view <br />To a life of which he can only write...and assign a number <br />God knows the assigned number of hairs on any man's head.... <br />For Christ sake....forget I mentioned it! ! ! !<br /><br />Ted Sheridan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/six-thousand-seven-hundred-and-forty-four-is-such-a-sad-number/
