Of 16630 days
300 were spent with you
And of those days divide by 2
For half-time here
and half-time there
Just 1 percent of all my days
A blip
A freak
An accident
And while we’re speaking
numbers and fractions
Let me ask you:
Does a half-truth + a half-truth = a whole truth or a whole lie?
Or a charming contradiction
wrapped in flattery
artifice
boredom
jealousy
hatred
and false camaraderie?
(let’s not forget immaturity)
And together do these half-truths form a whole as you two do?
For we all know that things can be false or true
Except for you —
you have slippery notions
and fractured views
on the fractions of truth
Not for you two the facts
nor inviolable truth
not the tangible, visible, physical truth
For there are no givens or facts with you
and you justify half- third- quarter- truths
As you cling and confuse
all those around you
mixing up who knows what
and who with who
And I wonder who’s been told
which half of the lie
And who’s been told
which half of the truth?
And then I remember
how little it matters
for the 1 percent blip, the accident of you
wasn’t ever real
wasn’t even true
was as fake as you
and your sad half-truths