the circumference of my mind

Measure me against your line of best fit

And you'll find that I am more skewed than I'd care to admit.

The matrixes of my being take residence in the lower quartile of the city,

And my half-life will be spent here in the streets where the greatest common factor of society is our poverty.

We'll take our gambling odds in this finite life of a deleted neighborhood,

Null to all others and on the cusp of being nothing more than a percentage,

Another factor in your equation,

Hoping to disprove your hypothesis.