In a flash, we slip, sharp-like into that familiar trap.
I know it, but can’t stop the slide. Well, fuck.
The use of a struggle is minor. It helps no one, ‘cept
maybe the other party. A major issue is, I can’t see what
anyone would maybe see in me. Everyone else walks these
quagmires, not like Jesus walking on water-sand, but
with at least enough discretion as a demi-god, a minor
deity. I fill a peasant role and sink. They all survive the pull.
I’m a side character, a modest starlet, a forgettable foil;
you’re the Master of Elements, a Fairy Queen, a List Ender.