My friendships are Shakespearean

They're long-winded and tragic

Oftentimes my life's a stage

(Reality lacks magic)

I toil and I trouble

But have not found an elixir

Or anything fitting enough

My funny, friendly fixer

I'm wary to be Gildenstern

Have Hamlet cause my death

Nor would I want "Et tu, Brute?"

With one last betrayed breath.

Then again, I do not want

A friend's dire devotion

Mercutio got stabbed from that

And I don't need commotion.

Doth think that I protest too much?

Well, then I pose the question

Could you to be or not to be

A friend of my expression?