Old Friends

You stopped being somebody 

 I could sit next to. 

I began to feel the weight on my chest 

 Under your babbling and tone deaf centeredness. 

My air was heavy, and you had moved beyond it. 

It was always lonely, carrying so much weight, 

Living in a world where friends would move on.  

I was left to the burdens in this life I had never asked for- always dense and sunken with the weight I carried along on my back. 

My headaches would ravage me, and sink me down into bedsheets.

My nerves would turn on me, as I begged for death. The pain became so 

Physiological...

And so many, too many whom I called friends, 

Had left me baring the weight on my own. 

Maybe not that I should even fault them, but what then, was ever a friend?

And if we thrive in light, 

 Then I have died a slow death in darkness, sealed only more 

By the tomb of my truth that I chose to bare 

For myself, and the world. 

And maybe to them, I had nothing left to offer, 

 Like the ones I'd shunned, for their own and obvious defaults. 

I know I have carved this life out, just as the loneliness was always destined to bond to it. 

And still of course it hurts. Hurts to love. Hurts to be denied because of who you are. 

And perhaps the blame was always mine. 

And not THEIR burden to bare.