I started counting when I was seventeen

I have not  stopped once since then, or in between

I’m at a number so high

It makes my mother cry

Especially when I say it out loud

And it’s time for a new number to float off my cloud

You may have noticed that I’m writing this

If I’m always counting, something must be amiss

Well, I can write and count at the same time

Whether in prose or rhyme

If I could stop counting, I surely would

But that wouldn’t do me any good

I can still remember the number one

Going from one to two seemed like so much fun

If only I had stopped right there.

But three was such a temptation, I didn’t care.

The rest is history

My compulsion is a mystery

Maybe some day I’ll try subtraction

Or play in my head with an improper fraction