We’re as close as one is to nine.
Ten goes looking for zero and
gets caught up in what’s mine.
And I tell him it’s none of his business
because it isn’t. But
I appreciate the company.
He’s surprised to find nothing,
more hurt than one usually is
but it still stings to learn that
what you’ve been looking for is not.
It split him into two,
one who’s lost and another who sought
some masochistic game with numbers and rhyme
in which nine finds one,
a game that cannot be won.
And they’ll come together as friends,
old friends, never really apart,
to start things all over again,
giving each other ’til the count of ten.
Hopefully that’s what I am to you,
coming together to fall apart
just as maniacs do.