Every yellow and blue and silver paint has a brush,

But only you know what happened to us.

They plugged you in and you came out

the same as everyone else, the product of

of an equation only they know about.
Now I’m here, not the cross product of anything,

but the phantom one that everyone never

sees. That useless one hooked on to you,

and no matter how many times I try to

multiply back into your old self, the more
you divide yourself away. Undo redo process, the

ratio of our love is you to me, and me to

you, but have you forgotten that too? X=

what when I= nothing? Phantom behind you,

phantom inside you, your just another part
of their trend. But when did we end? When did we


end?