Over

O Frustration, thy sting is so bland! Is this all thou canst do to vex me such? If tis all ye can do, then thou art but a small pinprick upon my heart, and only such. The same things over and over, in time, have little effect. And if and when thous subsides, what is left but to heal? Th'art naught but a small step t'wards my own self-control. Frustration, thou art naught but a nusience to me.

The End

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