I am made entirely of flaws,

Stitched together by good intentions.

I come from a land with no laws,

Different forms in all my reflections.

I traverse an invisible line,

Between the morally right and wrongs.

I dance, my feet in time,

Bending to the death-marching songs.

You know me by many names,

For I drop pseudonyms like plagues.

Some call my work “games,”

Because I like to keep the rules vague.

Simply know that if we’ve met,

You’d know it well as your fingers.

And if we haven’t yet,

You will when your mortality lingers.