There's a dead friend in my closet that no one ever liked.
I know they are still there.
but, I ignore it until someone brings them up again.
I evade the question, as if I did not **** them.
As if their bones did not crumble when I touched them.
As if I did not take their soul when I told them.
Guilt falls over me.
I lay awake at 2 a.m.
Sometimes I check to see if they may come back to life,
they are always the same as I left them.
Dead and unchanging,
and everyone praises the day the corpse died.
But, I cannot understand how to feel happy,
without a person in my life
A poem I wrote after leaving a 6 year friendship.
— The End —