Friend. By definition, a person whom one knows, likes, and trusts. By society,

One who will let you bend over backwards for them, but won’t move a muscle

in your time of need.

What gives you the right? The right to call yourself a friend. Act as if you love being around me,

But really you just pretend. Boost my head up, but tear me back down in the end. Friend?

Couldn’t be. I have a better word for you: fiend. Cruel and wicked.

Yes, that’s you. Evil. Devilish. Satan number two.

Doing whatever it takes to fit in with the crowd. Remember?

The ones you said were so rude and loud.  The ones who know nothing about you

or all that you’ve been through. The ones who never cared and were never there for you.

Betraying me, and even your own self, too.

Morals. Standards. Common sense. These three things you must be against.

So easily persuaded you are. Following others like a slave following the north star. This is not

You, or at least that’s what I thought. Or maybe you fooled me,

And you’ve finally been caught. It’s as if your loyalty to me flew out the window.

 It’s a shame, such a shame, to see it go.

Frustrating, fake, forgettable. That’s you.

Anything that comes from you will never be true.

You couldn’t stick to your word even if you were glue.

 But I don’t even care. That’s what I tell myself.

Then again I do, just a little, no

more no less. Really, I just want you to take the time to think:

What kind of friend is really your worst enemy?