Obliqued Nines

Queuing for a Ring

No pride. Jostling for nothing, as if something might be gained, from lining up, compliant, vacant.

Numbers so close to making it, having covered so much ground, to come to this, surrendering.

As if curvilinearity might amount to something, always had it so good. Never had to worry before.

Key-shaped, as close to a key as a number might be, these keys will provide more lies, no prisoners will be freed here, no matter how many you try, how about nine, how about nine, how about nine?

From waiting now, they will wait forever. No ring shall lend a helping hand. Gathered before no good.