Heart-Bled
My friends are not my friends,
Not my friends anymore.
Betrayed, back-stabbed and grave-dug,
I stand heart-bled.
I see few in pleasure,
Drinking my blood for wine,
And they make merry,
Before my eyes.
What have I to say?
Nothing, but thanks.
Thanks to Him,
For portraying, who my,
So-called friends were.
Thanks be to Him.
poem by Santhosh Vijayakumar
Added by Poetry Lover
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