It's a thing that I couldn't keep it for myself.
Someone trusted me,
somebody did tell me,
but I couldn't keep it for myself.
I couldn't apologize, years might have passed,
and neither couldn't atone to the action,
It's a long-forgotten one,
I chewed on it for a long time,
chomping on it for years
and I gradually internalized
the pain,
now I don't feel it,
the pain,
but instead I feel the void,
void of pure hopelessness,
something I would never be able to correct
or make it proper,
tidy up that friendship,
It was a pure one and an incomplete one.
I have shed tears a lot for,
nobody noticed; neither couldn’t
I gather the gut for,
I still, in that swampy water
rot like a corpse,
pig, coward, a nasty little shit,
I ruined it for nothing
I didn't know the pain until
he asked me not to
talk to me anymore;
neither didn’t he utter a word.
That moment, the sound I heard of
a glass heartbreaking.
Quaver with pain, rage, anger
on one, the voice echoed,
that I'm a fraud, trickster,
hoodwinker.
I proved I wasn't loyal.
Like a dried cup of coffee,
I still sit on the table
thinking of atonement,
I still haven't made up to my
dear friend.
The one person I could call one.
