Probability and Statistics

Well, we crossed the road to opposite sides

From him wanting me, me relishing the power

To him wanting me and having me wrapped 'round his little finger

I've learned a lot about probability, you know

There's a direct correlation between most things

The tighter my clothes, the likelier he'll be free later

The more weed he smokes, the more quickly he'll fall asleep after

The more often he holds me on his couch, the more tangled I become

Another newly familiar subject is statistics

When he's inside me he brings the bodies and hearts of

Dozens of other women, putting them inside me too

Does their pain have a right to me if I'm asking for it?

"Asking for it" makes me a statistic too, a notch

A notch in the belt around that trim waist

Probability again, how likely am I to keep coming back?

Statistics: Well, you've said yes now, even when he doesn't ask

Probability: You know how badly you want him

Statistics: Unless I'm missing something you're 100%

Probable to run to him whenever he hints because

Statistically you don't demand, you don't ask for much

Probably because your body is your wall

To those whom much is given much is required

But that's not how it works with men, I mean

Mankind, or is it man-unkind, I forget?

Someone once said the body sheds its skin

For a whole new one every seven years, statistically

I, like a slow snake, will have a body untouched by greedy hands, probably

But what's the number for a defiled soul?

What's the probability the stone glaze over

My deep, hungry eyes will go away?

I'm inside-out Medusa, my chilling gaze renders him statue and irrelevant

I'm backwards Midas, when he touches me I see him as cold, bloodless metal

But fire can char any stone, melt the frigidest golden face and body

I've never been good at math, but my brain is a friend of patterns

And statistics are like familiar ruts in the cowardly ground

Probability, my mud-stained feet surrendering to well-worn paths

You probably don't understand, but statistically rain comes

Around before miry mud pits and I'm tired of

Letting math be unworthy hands and presumptuous lips

I've decided to become a mudslide of unpredictability

I hope the world pulls out its sled and enjoys the roller-coaster

Tosses and turns of my breaking heart and the

Healing soil

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