Dear Friend

My friend with the pretty black hair,

Who's soul is supposedly so pure,

You feed the homeless, and care for the poor,

Could God want nothing more?

 

I like you, and you say you like me,

A like so sweet and friendly,

A like with laughs, smiles, and happy feelings,

A like, perhaps, with sugar coated memories?

 

For sometimes, the things you say,

Make me doubt if you are an illusion that fades,

Hurtful, uncaring, hypocritical words,

Could our friendship be taking a turn?

 

And as I sit next to you,

Laughing and smiling, like we always do,

I can't help but doubt that pretty pretty smile,

Wondering, if I should place you under trial.

 

Dear friend, strange friend, secretive friend, my friend,

You aquire one of the few minds I can not comprehend,