The Count

 the walker before me blocks me from my past, 

run with the wind,

I will not,

ever again, 

or walk without pain,

writing now difficult,

instead my mind contemplating each and every possible step,

I may possibly take,

evidently afraid of the pain,

it sits, continuously counting steps,

endlessly, .  . .Sesame Street gone wrong,

I stagger up and grab the walker,

I concentrate on not vocalizing the count in my mind,

back stabbing bastard,

count to yourself,

you son of a bitch,

I will focus on the journey,

not the steps,

even if only to relieve myself,

the journey important, not the count,

outside, desperate to see sky,

a girl on the sidewalk,

college aged, walks on by,

my mind no longer notices how she dresses,

or her body type,

it only counts her fucking steps,

as she walks on by,

seeing me, a smile full of pity,

she starts across the street, to the other side,

nearing the border of my universe.