Friendship's Last Straw Poem by Adrian Antique

Thinking the gathering was a bonding, I went.
Then I discovered the line I held on to was now bent …
Every sound of laughter was really a bite on my neck,
Every glow I shared became a trampled speck.

Why is it that goodness is always drawn to war?
I put on my kindest face and be given a scar?
Some smiles are really grey insides of a mask …
Vinegar instead of water boiling in a cask.

Sincerity has become a tiny stream on many mountains,
A rare jewel unseen, a one out of countless tens.
Only once in maybe six months, I get a genuine pat on the back …
Most of the handshakes were wide grins of a wolf pack.

This is why I have chosen to somehow hibernate …
To huddle among my rocks and paint them while I wait,
To toughen the brick walls with my shadowy gaze …
And make sure whoever enters my fortress shall go through a maze.

Gone are the days when embraces were warm without pain,
When kindness was served on a white platter without stain …
Porcelain cups with hot sweetness and glee of some sort
Are now tiny paper boats in a storm away from port.

No need for any blade to sever the thin, short string …
I'll just stroll away quietly from this buoy that's sinking.
Perhaps, I was sullenly wrong to seek a cure for my loneliness;
Sharing spaces and stories nearby was a mistake and a mess.