“Best Friend”

A simple tea time set for two
But china shattered, patterns blue
Their faces fall and smiles droop
Such angry, desperate hands on you

Fixing faults and sewing scars
Scrambling now to mask the harm
Begging for her, grasping arms
Cold voice at night cries in alarm

Too ill or bitter to understand
Love doesn’t form in violent hands
Trust won’t spring from vicious lands
Your best friend, lost to time’s red sand

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