My Friends

they are my friends because
i am one with the money
and they borrow
and not pay and borrow again and i let them
and they do not pay
and they come
to eat in my house
for free dinners and some snacks
and tell me stories
about their sorrows and problems and their
broken ambitions, and i am left with no choice but to listen
and stop for the meantime
doing the things i want to do, and they call
needing more
and asking more and pouring out and i assure them
i am here
and i am here to listen and cater and always
be their friend

but soon, these, all these will be over
i am tired
being abused by these friends
i guess, i must stop being stupid

i have decided at the end
to lose them and junk them

today, i befriended myself.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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