numbers get you mad because they got truth like glacial peaks carved correctly without your input or knowhow; with no exact date Tagged to their ceremonial unveiling.
numbers make you sick like nanograms of poison divided evenly along a two hour treatment. distributed smartly to touch every cell in your your being; the ratio of which are killing you, you cannot round to the nearest thousandth.
numbers have you frozen, exactly because they don't freeze; that spinning clock and foolish feeling when you discover you aren't the first to discover that this doesn't end.
you are sliding back and forth, an abacus exercise, counted in only odds, thrust madly by thumbs belonging to hands you only faintly Pretend to know.
you are a number, stuck between two others, sitting along some line, hoping to help make sense.