Dear Adalaide Harrison,
All good things must come to an end, they say,
For which the friendship we were compelled to share
Is no exception, I declare.
We were like twins;
The world couldn't tell us apart.
Not split in half,
But we were the blend in a ratio
Of comparative power to she who wins.
Of this confusion, you took utmost benefits alright;
When situations got out of control, you were in delight.
On the day of our fourth birthday, mother made us both one cake,
Made us promise to leave it untouched while she was out of sight.
You stole four bites and ran away in fright,
And the blame of your theft I had to take.
You laughed like a lunatic all the while I cried,
And I've been the bearer of your pains all along.
Yours,
The Best Friend.
YOU ARE READING
Sixteen Letters From The Killer [Fictional Poetry]
Poetry"But when one has no way of exceeding the limit of sixteen, Is death not the ideal medicine?..." ... On the night of my sixteenth birthday, my killer made me write sixteen letters to myself, dictating every word. Sixteen minutes later, I was dead...
![Sixteen Letters From The Killer [Fictional Poetry]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/279449355-64-k649744.jpg)