I thought I was good at this
a delicately constructed mask
form fitting and leering
Subject to dissipative resistance
And emboldened flashy facades

Am I the type to scream of my pain
The size of my plate
too portioned to shame
still lay open to you
And you laughed in my face
Pressed liquor to my throat
And called me lame

Berated and hated the break in my spine
Pressed me to the wall when I turned down your white lines
Resentment and hatred burned into my hips

I needed my friend

you just needed my tricks