how when they like you
you think they are being their true selves
their gentle care
mana to your eroded soul
it is merely the sticky gloss of their expectations and dreams
appear attentive
short-lived when you do not
rise to unspoken expectation
once they know you are
just who you are
fantasy or the begetter of
their own glossy stage play
all the light
all the brightness
are withdrawn
and they say
no problem
but by friends they mean
I will no longer shine a light your way
there was something else
on offer
swung at ill thought promise
for they exist at
the bus stop for restless people
who only give damn when they get
paid in turn
we mean what we say
but they are
not true
to their word
intention like
blotting paper absorbing
all the little stains and feelings
and no boat can be formed
for those left drowning
in their indifferent wake
Much more beautifully put than the prose of, “Real love, real friendship is not a deal, a quid pro quo, that so many seem to think.”, or, “If you see me only with your imagination, you do not see me at all.”
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
At Hijacked Amygdala, TheFeatheredSleep sings of false friends.
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