Winmau ring upside down.
Treble three bed, peppered with holes
from countless arrows and imaginary ones
burnt by my eyes over the shoulders of others.
One hundred and seventeen etched in
chalk on the scoreboard. The same number of
times, I have counted the chairs, the frames on the walls,
the tiny holes in the air vents, scratches on the table.
Ninety three paces, how long I have to hold on
before I'm forced to let go.
One hundred and forty six seconds from letting go
to holding on again.
Five steps, four railings and two doors before
I take another forty one strides to rest once more.
One hundred and eighty minutes of high frequency
sounds, that can be heard by no one except me.
Eight and a half brings it to an end.
Cruelty by numbers.
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