The Mask Pride Supplied

I left with grace—you’d think that might suffice,

After the years I bled to make you shine;

But warmth can rot beneath a coat of ice,

And yours was gone the moment I resumed.

The praise you sang turned silence overnight,

Your handshake cold, your smile a hollow play;

I see now loyalty was just a light

You lit for show, then snuffed when I walked away.

You feast on names until they dare to grow,

Then spit them out once usefulness has died;

I was a tool—too slow, too soft to know,

That friendship’s just the mask your pride supplied.

So take your throne of whispers, smug and thin—

I’ve left your shadow; may it choke you in.