I learned to count early,
read the Bible too;
wrath, punishment
seemed no absolution.
Separate at five.

In the morning
when I was defiled,
five screams a minute.
Five shiny points from
the glass shards.
Five fingers, to check off
as I calculate.
In five minutes I'm clean
and new,
separated by five degrees.

Five from what I don't want
to remember, any things green
black or brown
make it easier.
Five letters / numbers are my friends.

The ceiling fan: wood, glass,
white, brown, brass,
another set of quints.
A quick escape
when I should need one.

My rabbit holes with
backdoors a-plenty.
Five senses all shut down.
I've got good and can count
before what might happen.

Safe in numbers, hidden,
when I separate from myself.