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Driving
Nails
I saw her standing
On the precipice of love,
Trembling, crying,
A lover gone,
The dust of deceit
Swirling around
Her feet,
The emotions
Of being used,
Truth abused
Tying her in
Internal knots,
There was little
I could do
To ease her pain,
Sadly
listening to
The rhythmic ring
Of her hammer
Driving nails
Into the door
To her heart,
Swearing never
To giver herself again.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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