Poetry - Week Three.

Crime of Passion


When I think what you did, my blood runs hot.
Your happiness meant all the world to me.
I thought you were my friend, it seems you're not.

Our friendship stemmed from childhood, what we'd got
was destined to last till eternity.
When I think what you did, my blood runs hot.

You saw me with my man and lost the plot.
You must have been consumed with jealousy.
I thought you were my friend, it seems you're not.

You are, however, strumpet, whore, harlot.
You sold our friendship, trampled the debris.
When I think what you did, my blood runs hot.

I looked at you with him and I forgot
how much I'd loved you. Darling, don't you see?
I thought you were my friend, it seems you're not.

Your reputation lies in tatters. What?
Did you expect you get away scot free?
When I think what you did, my blood runs hot.
I thought you were my friend. It seems you're not.