You call yourself a friend,
but I must be the exception
that proves the rule,
that begs the question,
can you open your mouth
and make a confession?
I don't mean a worm,
just to snag your attention.
Betrayed again, Judas blues.
Should I lionize myself,
and rake in the contempt,
try to chastise you
for not keeping me exempt
from all of these joys
of the usual blend,
mainly self-pity, self-hate and big syringe.
Hang in there, Jesus blues.