The dinner tray
that you spray painted gold,
behind the sink, where you set it to lay,
represents nothing more than friendship gone cold.

Once an ugly brown,
now pretty on the outside--
but we chipped it away, wore it all down;
found the ugly you tried desperately to hide.

Messy, lying, manipulative
your grand façade faded quick,
it was rather short-lived:
your combative nature did just the trick.

Friendship's about giving and taking.
We too late heard the tray's silent warning
about the one who spawned its making.
It dawned on us suddenly, like sun in the morning:

trays are meant to maximize gain
you took too much, gave too little;
over and over, a song's sad refrain.

You've now lost your chance to meet us in the middle.