I’d rather an honest enemy than a deceitful friend.
I’d rather you talk to me than play pretend.
At least an enemy and I would have an honest fight
Won’t give me a smiling hug and leave a knife dripping in my back.
I still love you–
Oh like hell you do.
No stretch of that definition
Can cover what you’ve done.
The next time someone says
You know I care about you–
Well no, I don’t anymore
Coz I once believed it of you.
But when I wake up
Will you stay up with me
And tell me these past few months
Have been just a bad dream.
That’s all you are to me now
A nightmare or two
Or more like a nonstop rerun of them
I haven’t stopped dreaming of you.
Can you let go that easy
Like a bipolar storm
That enjoys sunshine for a day
And then hails until there’s none.
Can you walk out that easy
Like an amnesiac freak
Who suddenly can’t remember
Your best friend for years was me.
Oh, who’s gonna be at the altar with you now
Standing by your side as your groom comes down?
Who’s gonna sit laughing on a summer day
Margaritas and Cosmo in hand
Watching our kids grow up together
Like the best friends we never had.
Who do you text now, every hour, every day?
With all the random things we used to say.
Who do you sit laughing with over the stupidest things
And five minutes later you’re debating philosophy…..
And I hate you now even all the more
As I realize I’ll never be able to hate you a day in my life.
And it hurts the more, that even through my loss
I’ve stood back up and grown the stronger, appreciate my true friends the more now;
But your soul that was the higher
The part that I (and what was mine) used to liven will die.
And I will regret that here forever, dear
To see that part of you withering and eternally die.
So now you’re a different soul
Lately I was just friends for old times’ sake.
But I still believed you could be again
Everything you once were meant to be.
Not this mediocrity
Not such complacency
Such normal sentimentality
Don’t you ever dream of wanting to fly?
I’d rather an honest enemy than a deceitful friend
But a person playing games hurts her own self most in the end.
And the first cut–I saw none of it coming, nothing prepared to say–
And now all there is, is kiss my cheek again–et tu, Brute?
I’d rather an honest enemy
But here we are again.
Brute has made his choice.
Perhaps he never was Caesar’s friend.
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