one

You’ve called me Friend for many years
I’ve labeled you the same
In truth we act a moral play—
You’re Pity and I’m Shame

Our history is misbelief
A stage-prop neighborhood
From frontward vibrant liveliness
From backward: hollow wood

Thick curtains hide production sets
Familiar sights half built
Direction notes on memories
That demonstrate my guilt:

Those days you’d tell me secret hopes
Confiding in my trust?
I played my role with false pretense
And fabricated lust

Those evenings from our precious past
Spent contemplatively?
I manufactured moon-lit grief;
I made up midnight dreams

You may wish ill, I’d find no fault,
Theatrics now confessed
But hold and hear with what intent
My actions were possessed

I never sought to cause you pain
I lied to reach your heart
My falseness kept you by my side—
Prevented life apart

You see I am a puppet prop
I mimic, but don’t live
I’m only Friend or Shame with an
Existence relative

While you are real—quite capable
Of choosing who you are—
Save foreign hands and influence
I’m No-One when you’re far

Your body holds a brain and heart
Their union grants you form
Through such gifts you conquer doubt
Share pleasantness and warmth

But I am just a toy—a doll—
My body’s stuffed with clothes
I grasp with sawdust fingertips
And stand on sand-filled toes

The worst is of your precious will—
In me there’s no such thing
You’re pulled along by strength and dreams
I’m strung along on string