Chronic

No one got closer to me than she, who, whether
Willingly or simply drawn, was more than near,
Was brought within, then struggled to get out,
And did. She's very distant now. The wound
She made when she withdrew remains. It gapes.
It doesn't close.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 17 times
Written on 2011-02-11 at 18:47

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