Waiting in a line for years,
A straight narrow and sharp-edged line,
No deviations from the random plan,
No sidequests on the rigid edge,
Cutting a rift deep down your side,
Slide, get used to this embedded sign,
I wish that I could bend this spline,
And blunt the sharpness of its glide,
All I’m made from is squishy flesh,
No bone to grind this path, this edge,
I bow to all that lost with age.

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