She is dead,
Now I am free;
She had a will
And her eyes on me.
Her will had strings,
But can't you see,
I tore her strings
And I broke free...

She fought me hard,
But still she fell;
She kept me in,
While I gave her hell.
I was her nightmare
She'd never tell;
As weak she was,
She loved him well.

Her will is dead,
And so is she;
The one she protected,
Is no more free--
The one she hid,
Is now exposed;
The one she loved,
Will be disposed.

It cannot be,
She shares my stage;
She cheated death,
And turned the page--
She's alive inside,
Fighting the wars I wage;
She did not die,
*She's crying in the birdcage...

I start the day with one horse pill.
Half way through
I take a small one, two.
I'll last awhile longer
Until I need to intake
A caloric amount of 450
To make that third pill work
The fourth is just the same
As the first one of the day
My fifth will come when I am ready
To make a journey to a slumber.

I quit
your ******* list
a long time ago...

√1 x √ 1 = 1
Root one, never felt like a full piece, never one,
Root one, met another number so alike in style,
Their common interest multiplied and became one,
And that was when they both let out their first smile.

When other numbers counted the bees and the birds,
Root one and root one counted fractions and surds,
In hopes that no one ever knew or ever heard,
They spoke of words like how absurd was the word surd.

Root one who never felt more whole than anyone,
Finally found another soul to make him a whole one.
No need for imaginary numbers of root negative ones,
Because Root One found a positive match, Root One.

So as night approaches,
Root one and Root one now a real number
Surrounded by the petal of roses,
Fell into one another arms to slumber.

Night and day comes to an inevitable close,
Root one and Root one became a complete whole,
This simply goes to shows,
That you don't have to be without flaws to find another soul.

--------
√1 = 1
In another universe, root one was happy being root one,
Because root one found the one within himself, root one.
They say one is a lonely number, so a root one,
Must be the loneliest number with no need for anyone else to be one,
Living a sordid life of loneliness, no other numbers left to join,
And at the flip or toss of a coin,
He will remain a never used piece of conversation,
But this poem must come to a close, no point in elongation,
Root one is a lonely number with no one to root,
But his own self, what a lonely shoot....