Trust is an anomaly, but why is that so?
In such short supply, so where did it go?
It is a rarity, sacred like a gemstone amongst hidden treasure,
We see it only when it’s falsified as heartless means of pleasure.
Was there ever a time when there were friends you could believe?
Or were we just perhaps back then a fraction more naive?
Was there a line they crossed that we somehow managed to miss?
The line between a joke and when they start to take the piss?
My advice to you is this:
Don’t choose the wrong person to watch your back,
Because a bad back can turn into a back stab,
Don’t ask for a helping hand from someone who might pack,
Because when they up and leave they’ll use that hand to grab–
And they’ll grab everything you own and they will never return it,
Abduct your last remaining scrap of faith, only to burn it,
Every shred of dignity whipped out from underneath you,
A solitary sense of guilt is all that’s left to greet you.
The guilt is built from all the little things you let pass by,
The times you had suspicions but refused to see a lie,
The trust you gave and gave before a sudden realisation,
You realise you must have missed some vital information.
It hits you hard and makes you feel you’re under strangulation,
All things that were good come to a rapid cancellation,
Surroundings start to swirl from ample loss of navigation,
All you thought you knew receives a bitter segregation.
The best advice I offer, is that you don’t trust a soul,
Somewhere along the line there’ll always be some kind of toll,
That’s just the way life is, everywhere you go,
Because trust is an anomaly, but why is that so?