Photography © Edward S. Gault


My Friend the Poet

You came into my life
As a drunk and a whore
Looking for people to enable your next score
You pushed me down every time I tried to lift you up
You broke my heart and my spirit
as you dropped me for the one you thought you wanted, I was
          never enough
You bled me dry, and moved on, until you were scared
I held your hand, as you were impaired
But my friendship you took for granted
Even when you came back
You were no longer a drunk, but you called me your friend
You said I was your sister, I thought we would be friends
          to the end
Then you got sick and pushed me away
Stating you did those things, because of my plague
Of horrible luck and illness combined
You tricked me in thinking you were a brother for all time
But you walked away claiming to be the righteous one
But you haven’t changed your alcoholic nature, you manipulated
          and we are done
I wasted 8 years of my life, being your friend
You used me and lied, and this is the end.
Karma will find you one day
Because of the hurt you caused, and the games you played
Self centeredness is not self worth
And it is not an excuse for the people you hurt


Heather DeMeo: “I have been through a lot in life. It has left me stronger, but without trust in the world. I use art to work through my pain.”

Edward S. Gault is a poet and fine arts photographer living in Brighton, Massachusetts. His work has appeared in Oddball Magazine, Spectrum, Wilderness House Literary Review, Interlude, Currents, and Encore.