Guess

[dangercakes]

That's what you get. That's what you get. That's what you get.

This is no proving ground;
no shapes are taken here.
No sink resides anymore for test nor trial nor tear.
Playful shedding of sins
will find in me no net.
This is no proving ground; but that's what you get.

There's a tunnel born by the pit I lay bare.
Throughways, causeways, slight foresight of where direction may grow.
It's no plain gash; no slash, no feeling of defile. No tear.
We are ourselves a path for one anothers' experiences. The gouge in the ground we sow.

This is no proving ground; our missteps are shown directly
with consequence sadly felt deep and sharp and indefinitely.
Every well-intentioned passage casts our shared debt,
but this is our only ground, and that's all you get.