Simple Maths

He bullshitted it as the idea of simple maths,
trying to explain away faith in fractions,
disasters in decimals, mayhem in multiplication.
The list goes on, I digress,
nothing more than coincidence, and nothing less.

The soul is indivisible and life is a percentage,
I am a number past its prime, and
your lies are nothing but anti-equated ideals.
So have your cake, and have your pi too,
Your digits and words will abandon you.

Empty echoes, on an empty page, there’s chalk
on the board, and blood on your hands.
The spirits of the young run through the cracks.
Crush your head between those erasers,
and slice your jugular with a cut throat razor.
Your number is up.