We use to understand each other.
We use to not speak faulty of the other.
I would always be able to read your smile.
You would make no comment if my clothes were out of style.
Just so you know, you were pretty back then too.
So how was it that I got to hang out with you?
You were different you see.
Athletic but not dumb, do you see?
Pretty but not slutty, do you see?
You were no prep; you and me were a we.
So here’s the thing, everything, sort of, kind of…well everything changed.
I saw it happening, ever so slowly.
But I could do nothing, just hang my head lowly.
You were surely, most defiantly hanging out with a new crowd.
You began to dress differently, I certainly was not proud.
When we are alone it isn’t so obvious.
But when we’re with your new friends, it just seems so preposterous.
And now there is no more denying, I can’t make it better by just flipping a switch.
As much as I hate it, I have to admit, that clearly, most certainly, my best friend’s a bitch.

View this story's 5 comments.