9TH

9TH

Ninth is a place that is unlucky for me. My core runs hotter in predicting, seeing.

I’m not a swine, portrait upon oneself number nine. Maybe it’s our umbilical code-sign. Alpha-numerical, 10-sense memory test, failing. Hysterical. Examen in remorse or harmonic discourse. Beautiful angel. Prime.

From perspectives I feel rather than see my position between eight and ten is clear to be. Not happy in even’s company said. Not joyful of knowledge that three squares my roots. Uncomfortable being so far from my home, in heaven, significant seven, alone.

It’s riddled with the chill of injustice’s blisters under surface, these premonitions. I fear most. All the creatures of contortionist continuity cluster into knots. I’ve felt thus betrayal before. Both numbers beside me are divisible by two, something, I find jarring about denominational plurality, such ease of dissection’s sterility, unthinkable.

Still, creeping back to primes security, harshly turn my back on lightening’s luminosity. Seep as liquid into holes, retarding needs. Repulse everything.

I draw a line. I’m lucidity seven. Describe me otherwise in anger as, the blockades forming lovers lost homage. How many more poison-penned notes can I write when digits are limited lumber. The secateurs poised only high tens that delight in time. Take three, happily. My gift in remainders emblazoned black raven.