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Are you weapon or are you aid, assassin or assistant, serviceable mate or an unmanageable peasant angry at haystacks peasants helped create. Almost perfect in your angle of attack flat out fierce when you know what you wish to pierce shy of what youre worth when your worth cant be caught between parallel tines (that chime when struck by bone or luck) you wait patiently by brother plate til servings done. When you reach you catch what youre after in your claw, lift the prize to the masticating maw of whatever beast with opposable thumbs commands you to obey their warrior way until bloody hungers satisfied and you, motionless again, become a patient silver lining waiting for its cloud, a steely loneliness, perfectly at home at the center of a crowd.