Splintered Hemp

Hemp frayed and splintered, rough against skin,

a strap that’s seen years unspooling like worn thread.

Each splintered strand a forgotten story,

sharp against the soft skin it once held close.

This strap dangles limp on rusted hooks,

a skeleton of use, breaking slow,

like promises left tangled in dust,

a rough edge you can't smooth or forget.

It scratches, biting reminders

of what we let go, and what goes on

breaking down, fiber by fiber,

twisted loose by neglect and time.