everyone knows that one plus one is equal to two, but no, he had to subtract your broken identity, leaving you with zero.
two sad zeros are two lonely eyes. no one believes we ever try, hovering on the edge of the number line. zero's the beginning of everything and nothing, the origin of crushed love. move the slightest fraction positive, and you would be free, but we couldn't balance the inequality.
x and y were never alive. multiply, multiply, multiply; is that all they care about? when they rip us in two after they eventually divide, all that's left is the remainder, an extra burden to bury, reduced to modulo nine.
we'll never be a perfect circle nor a right triangle, so easy to understand with integer solutions. no, we're answers in terms of pi, rounded down to the nearest whole, because they wouldn't have us the way we were: irrational.
it started off small, then doubled, tripled, quadrupled, shooting off the charts with exponential growth. the curve flatlined sooner or later. we were finite numbers reaching for infinity.
they can't plug us into a formula to find the area of our ardor. no equation can solve for this variable. no function can explain our relation, yet your happiness could be graphed as a vertical line, undefined.
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