I've been counting syllables
I count in groups of eight;
Though most find my plight laughable,
My gearshift ming I hate.
"Don't step on cracks," it says to me
With such fervor, it knows
I can't back down or look away;
A puppet giving shows.
Although I pray, I beg and plead,
The guilt just won't subside;
Six million deaths, all on my hands
This demon does confide.
Everyone can see the grip
This monster has on me
Through tapping, counting, organizing
And longing to be free.