Friends

So ironic, that friends can sting the best,
What lashes of words they hurl, to cut,
Sear, or even burn your spirits’ flesh,
They see that stony path to what hurts.

And climb they do, to the summit,
With its thin air and jagged points,
Driving their blood-rag flag into
The peak: creating valleys in your back.

All seeing eyes; glances into thoughts:
Like giving a thief keys to a vault,
Expectations of trust are worthless
If the pick-pocket can never be caught.

Friends, further away than enemies,
Have more room to draw their weapon,
And know all the soft spots to strike
To bring upon your wits’ end.