A solitary lunch.
Last year I would have complained.
But I'm starting to enjoy it.
A seat near the windows
Remaining unoccupied
Beckons to me;
A clique of one.
Overlooking the crowds
Gazing out into the sunshine
Backstabbing friends
Laugh and shout
Excluding me.
I've come to expect it.
I never knew that life could be so peaceful
And so disastrous in unison.
Following no pattern,
My thoughts pile up,
Like rising water
Drowning all the useful information.
They don't speak to whores;
At least not in truth.
The words said aloud:
"Sure I'm your friend."
The rest is in their heads:
But I think you a whore,
A bitch.
A slut, even.
These are read on faces
That are supposed to be learned
In concealing ones thoughts.
Look away,
Look away as I pass by.
Why don't they just come out
And say what they really think?
They try to pretend,
But I was told
About the stainless steel
Blade,
That everyone knows about.
You think that a smile,
And a statement;
"I like your pants,"
Will make you my friend again?
YOu could never be so wrong.
Maybe I deserve this constant state of solitary,
But I don't want those faux amis.
The ones who whip out their knives
When your back is turned,
When you're least expecting it.
I guess it's just something people do;
A force that can't be stopped.
Now, only one question remains:
Why risk befriending someone,
If you already know
Betrayal is unpreventable?