My will isn’t free

My strings have been pulled

Choices have a high tax

Encapsulated in a curled cord

It’ll ring when my code has been broken

Reflecting on the disparate digits

Bitter tastes are all I know

You can’t locate me

Every promising avenue

Will wind back to the start

You’re cut from simple cloth

Not molded from clay

The stark contrast breaks stronger souls

Lofty goals won’t be met

I’ve attempted every way to reset

Received suggestions aren’t novel

Steam finds a new loophole

The history books weren’t written for us

New rust appears on the ligaments

Satirized by a desperate author

Olympus crumbles into the drain

Where dead flowers have been lain

I’ll see you when I see you