It seems to me the stitches that had bound us together were detached.
We developed disjointedly, carving our own paths.
Larger and larger the distance raised, the twine that seized us broke its strangled grasp.
My painted lips part from the tip, and out my mangled words will
,
Our friendship has faded,
My contorted form is the residue,
Our tears may stain the floor.
I pursue our recollections till my foot absconds a trodden trail.
Again and again I review the fact the view of your conduit appears to pale.
The foliage has turned, ashen clouds have burned, and our friendship continues to fail.
You may turn your back,
Call me this,
Tell me that,
But I still entitle custody of our memoirs.
We’ve matured to dissimilar communities,
But I’ll never disregard,
The times I couldn’t cease laughing.