Behind the Eyes

I once had a friend, who said they understood.
The reality is they had closed eyes and hoods.
Cloaked hidden face, only thoughts of themselves.
While you’re often left behind, left on a shelf.

Open and honest and free, unfortunately,
that’s not the case, and I doubt, it ever will be.
You can try and try and try and try, but I can
tell you now, what you’ll find at the end - tears,
that’s what you’ll find. Left crying, in a puddle
of brine; sitting you’ll wonder are they really friends of mine.

You give and they take, never mindful your sake;
means nothing to them in the end.
Therefore, you sit and you smile, trying to be gentle,
all the while, you keep pushing your hurt down deep.
God forbid you upset them, because they’ll lambaste
you on a fiery spit, spewing sparks of words, then
they’ll laugh, as it benefits them; this joke of you,
while they think themselves so fit, and not you.

They can look at the beauty of the blue skies all day,
but do they ever stop to look to see what’s behind
the eyes of you. They never really do, do they.
It’s about them, not you. When they are down, then
it’s all about you - as in where are you, can you spare
a dime, or a moment of your time, which you always do.
Because unlike them, that’s just you - a real friend.

A friend, who always bends, flexible to their needs,
and always caring, regardless of when, or who or what,
or why. You’re always looking out for them, but do they
ever send a thing your way, just a moment of their time,
just to say hi or hey. But it never seems to be the way…
it’s always, sorry, I was busy that day.

If only once they would recognize the hurt behind
your eyes. It may make them think a bit, then sit and
have a cry - better yet, to shed a tear or two with you.