I’ve always had difficulty

with men who claim different stories.

Difficulty with men like you.

Because your version of robbing a bank,

includes the two of us.

And only half would be accused.

And only half walks away bruised.

But you walk away with more words to cuss

because you’re the guilty one.

I’m the one accused.

You’re the one who got away.

I’m the one abused,

because you didn’t want me to betray.

How can I betray you

if you can’t betray me?

Because I’ll tell the truth,

you don’t have loyalty.

You have many masks,

and each time you shed another.

You give everyone else the tasks

that you wouldn’t bother.

The two of us worked out quite well,

That’s why you’re in prison,

and I’m unwell.

Next time just listen.

Now you’re out again,

and you got some nerve.

You are the most inhumane,

that’s a small thing I’ve observed.

You are evil,

and you are rotten.

You are lethal,

and, now, you are forgotten.

So don’t you dare ask me, yet again,

‘When did I, a man, become a monster?’

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This was a, by far, interesting poem. It kinda went all over the place, but I like it because it’s my honest take on this prompt. Thanks for reading!