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Poetry

Frayed
By Tom Stanley



The rope is frayed,
Like my very last nerve. 
I can almost sense and remember,
every single curve. 
I try to shut you out,
Yet in you creep,
Bringing back that
Which makes me weep. 
I feel so bad,
I cannot compare it. 
I must clear my mind,
But I must grin and bear it. 

Tom Stanley

 

 

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