Broken Glass

You phoned me, often.
Your young voice needing me to
direct you, guide you and tell you that —
everything will be okay.
I considered you among the few in the
circle that I would trust with my own
darkest and broken pieces.
Now, I am left wondering
when the lies started? When we met?
Were you so good at it even then
that my paranoia feelers missed it..
completely.
During the tarot card readings?
During the long conversations on the phone?
During the nights spent sitting up until late
drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes and laughing?
When did the first bit of silver tongued
betrayal ooze out of your face,
taking advantage of my trust and my
undying loyalty?
When?
… and why?
Because you needed a giant temper to hide behind
when you couldn’t fight your own battles?
Or because you knew my history
and that I would be kind while you
fumbled through your own inadequacy.
Tell me…
why is my name being dragged through filth?
Not just fresh mud, but hard and scabbed over
decaying soul destroying ground?
You know well my ‘off ‘ switch.
The only fingerprints on it are yours.
Welcome to blackness.
I am not showing you how to
stand up on your own anymore,
because you never did stand.
You clung to my back like a legless
self loathing monkey..
and I carried you.
I had faith in your potential.
This is where I walk away.
I would wish you well.
But you are good at what you do.
You will find another back, and
you will get better at lying.