Reams of papers, covered in darkling texts,
they scream. Two people bound by matrimony,
divided by ten thousand going to war - how long
until one will become half by this equation?
When will we have to stop tearing away -
lightening flashes and tricks of the trade -
to give us symmetry?
In a ruthless search for the intersection point, we sketch
symbols out for imaginary [truths], a sign
for infinity, for the forever we holler at,
demanding decimal needs.
Calculations equal out to zero,
humankind is sin.
