Knives in my Back

They look me in the eye and lie,

claim that their friendship is still there

when it’s already gone down the drain

and all I can see now

are all the ways we once were.

Now my attempts at contact

drift off like we’d never met,

collecting themselves in the past

where we burry our dead

beneath layers to fool ourselves

into believing

that even grass can grow

where bullshit lies

and all those years

were never meant to be anything

other than slight of hand handshakes.

About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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