There Is No Simple Number, But One Poem by Leslie Neiwert

The keyboard seems nothing to me right now,
Only a black, solid, ugly bruise.
The keyboard stares at me with it's whiten teeth;
All are daring me to be smooth.
'Run your hands over once more'
Each sing as I plead,
'Never let up until you are board'
Those are the things that I do bleed.

Paper doesn't seem so nice
When I pick up my pen;
Each sheet screams its pain and tears,
Laughing when I tickle them so.
Twitching my pen across the lines
Each piece I make seems old.

The words of my mouth fly away,
Leaving my voice and my throat.
Helpless I am without my words,
Floating in a drunken moat.

Numbers scramble just out of my reach
As I count away.

Leaving the last line here, until the end of the day.