When the line of one idea ends,
does the line divert into new ideas?
From one idea, do a couple, a few,
or several more split into existence?
Does one idea grow into new ideas
like a flower stem dividing into
several stems, letting more blossoms
bloom into beauty and brilliance?

When a circle of an idea starts,
does it overlap with past circles?
Do the overlapping colors and
textures create something new?
When the spark of a new idea is lit,
does it create a flame of creation and
craft that ignites, burning up projects,
releasing plumes of chaos in its wake?

Does your geometry have enough poetry?

One fifth of my day
was spent on precalculus.
I want to die now.

Well since we dont have enough math knowledgeto fully solve it we need one of the futuristic mathematical stuff using logic and intuition like they did back in prehistory to discover current maths. I believe the whole mathematical system works by following the golden ratio meaning everything will end how golden ratio ends. Which means RH could possibly end at complete 0 or ½. Why? Bcs it would fit to the golden ratio and also golden ratio is everywhere. Also as t takes up space it will have to end at some point and the largest 0 we could get is 0

Well math and philosophy need ro be together in order to discover new mathematical approaches and to advance maths. I know it wouldn't be approved but it can be used for more futuristic mathematical stuff making math knowledge expand with this idea

What's the probability of probably?
Is the square root of attraction,
You and is the variable me?
You're wicking me out,
All my facts start to feel like fiction,
And 2+2 is starting to look more like you.

My mind’s fracturing into repeating patterns
Patterns of life and words I do not know
People I have yet to see
Breathing in equations and out various numbers
Numbers with no meaning
Sparse and erratic

Splintering sentences and irrational answers
Decimals
Quotients
Products
Products that cannot be expressed
Quotients that can never possibly be fathomed
Decimals to infinity
Never repeating
But repeating that same set of numbers
1 through 9 in every shape and form
Spiraling into the abyss

Unifying everything
Yet moving so fast
So far
That it all falls away
Quantum mechanics
General relativity
Are nothing in the face of this infinite knowledge
Infinite numbers
Infinite death
Death to these hands
Death to these atoms
Death to every particle of light that collapsed from a wave
Death of the universe

Death of me

Can people change? That's one of the hardest question I've stumbled upon.
I've seen so many people change throughout my life.
My parents, my family, my friends.
Everybody's changing.
But when i look into a mirror, i don't just see glass that reflects light.
I see such an unchanged math problem that we might known as constant.
I see, myself.

Being constant is not the same as being consistent.
It's not a wordplay that everyone could mix it up.
Those two not even homophones.
Being consistent is sometime a thing that we could be proud of.
And yet being constant is
an illness that I haven't find the cure of.

I'm not saying that it's uncurable.
What I'm saying is
I'm sick of it.
I'm sick of being an unchanged variable that doesn't know how to change.
I'm sick of being a constant that is easily scratch out in a derivative.
Who are scared of the slightest change that eliminates.
I'm sick of being a constant that is negligible during a definite integration.
Who are disposable when the such circumstances are known.

All I'm saying is,
I'm sick of being a constant.
And for now,
I want things to change.

I had cookies after lunch
I had it, to tell myself
I could do it
I could eat cookies
and not think about the numbers
I could eat cookies
and not stare into the toilet bowl
I couldn’t do it
I looked into the toilet bowl
Reached into my mouth
And pulled it out
With slow and painful shoves
Though slow,
The way it happens
Is expedited
But it’s not enough
It’s never enough
The inside of the toilet bowl is stained with regret
The inside of my guts are still full of regret
But I cant get it out
It stays
I couldn’t do it
I don’t know when my food
Started tasting like regret
And looking like numbers
I miss how it made me feel
When my parents got me a donut
The smell of the warm bread
The feel of the chocolate between my fingers
I could eat 2 at once
And not give it a second thought
All 2 donuts are now
Is 500
500 too many
500 more of regret
I don’t want to think about the numbers
On the scale
Of my food
The number of scars I’ve painted on my thigh
I’ve never preferred math

Sometimes one plus one isn’t two.
Sometimes you
Look
At a person with things
That don’t add up, wondering
Where they took
The excess from.
Because sometimes one
Can skip the work, have fun
With threes
(Sounds familiar to me).
One becomes two
While you lose some value.
So maybe
Two plus zero can equal three
When skills rub off
Accidentally.