In shadows cast, a friendship did strain
Words unkind, thoughts filled with disdain
A façade of loyalty, a mask so tight
Beneath the surface, a venomous bite
Judgment flowed like a poisoned stream
Harsh critiques, a shattered dream
In his presence, a charade so grand
A friendship built on shifting sand
Mocking his choices, his life’s design
Yet in his eyes, a friend so fine
His laughter echoed, unaware of the scorn
A friendship twisted, tattered and worn
No light found in your critical gaze
Only darkness, a heart ablaze
His flaws magnified, your own cast aside
A friendship poisoned by pride
Reflect on words spoken, the wounds you sow
True friendship lost in the harshness you show
For in the end, what’s left to mend,
But shattered pieces, a bond to rend
Since my mother had bad things to say about everyone she knew, I decided to break them up individually. Of course, never releasing names. However, they would know it’s about them if they ever stumbled across this. Someday, when I share my name, they will know. They need to know, because they all deserve to heal from her too, not knowing they need to, yet… I believe they're all victims. Drawn to people like my mother for some reason. Much like myself and relationships.
There was a man my mother worked with. He, like everyone else, thinks they are super good friends. Man was she nasty when talking about him. He clearly went through some trauma in his life. He’s had several broken relationships, failed marriages, and a drinking problem, along with a DUI or two.
My mother criticized his every move. She made fun of his drinking problem. Called him names like, “stupid, idiot, moron,” and “loser,” behind his back of course. Every story he told her in confidence was repeated, not only to me, but to all the friends she’d call to gossip about, including her family. He has this story about "shitting his pants," which is actually quite funny, but rest assured, everyone my mother knows, knows that story. My mother told me she suspected he beat his wives, talked about how annoying he is and how mean he is to her, how if he died the earth wouldn’t even notice he was gone, and more. I can’t remember every circumstance and incident, but I remember his gestures. He invited us places, took us boating and tubing, invited us to his cabin up north, provided us with friendship and love. He was kind. He was a man who was struggling, did a lot for my mother, and had no idea how she spoke of him, and to everyone she knows. I feel for him and what he’s been through in life, and I genuinely hope that he is happy.
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