What one might think
Was an admirable friendship,
Became cheap,
After realizing that within
The laughable existence of the relationship
Stood an unfaithful, fluctuating soul.

Is it rational to believe
That the devil incarnate
Now lies within
The flowery character
I once knew?

While they filled your brain
With an ocean size amount
Of malicious chants,
I was your savior,
Waiting patiently beyond the ridicule
To shield you from loathsome, hateful words.

In my heart of hearts,
I was conscious of your doubtful essence,
But never really willingly admitted it to myself,
For I believed you would beautifully blossom
From the petit bud,
Suffocating in the field of already perfumed flowers.

What’s done is done cannot be pardoned.
The remembrance of things past
Remains inaudible,
And the future exists as equivocal.