I used to be one, alpha and alone. Then I met another and we became two.
A second pair of ones made us group to four. Separate couples in love conjoined by the door.
I thought, "Yes, perfection resting in one place. No single forsaken. No odd to replace." And with the others I began to relate. Between all my lovers, dancing figure eights.
Confusion was nowhere until one had left. Disbanding impending, loneliness beset.
For what was I if not dependent on others? And what was love if not so fragile to shatter?
An odd now, our pairs gone. Back to times once far past. I should have known dancing figure eights would not last.
Creation, division, subtraction, addition. Another number reluctant to submission in hiding behind all these makeshift partitions preventing us from making our own decisions.
I cast off my labels. I am not a one because people are people and love is still love.
Whether odd or even, whether large or small, partners will always forget about it all.
They care for the person and not for the name which makes it my fault that they left all the same. I'll still dance with numbers and laugh at their games, but when sadness takes over, I'm the one to blame.
I'm not number but a person, a fraud, and love is something of which I was never taught.
Hand me a tall glass of a swooning potion bubbles rising to the top and the foam in motion as I sway back in forth my cheeks marked with red blush uncontrolled laughter and careless touch
Does the world really spin as fast as it does? And does alcohol help us to see it? Are these just intoxicated shower thoughts? Am I conscious enough to believe it?
Everyone's dancing while I'm standing still or is everything backwards no one really knows swonk yllaer eno on or do they? like a tainted echo of what's really going on. But I don't know what's happening so does that really matter? Do we matter? What matters? Who cares besides ourselves what happens? Is that a paradox? Will the world explode? What have I done? Oh well :1 all that matters now is
Does the sun ever smile upon a shaded mind so deep in the darkness no light has touched it? No one really knows for no one yet has tried to expose the unknown and blindly trust its words with fervent hope the solution would be found.
Take what you will from things to be said. Lies and truths are still spoken the same. For language is our limit and inkwell and pen, creativity bound to pages, immortalized. Expression should bear no restraints.