There's a buffer,
Between you and I.
To share a secret:
It makes me cry.

Though we try our best,
And sometimes, I try in your place,
I can't help but feel
That you're upping your pace.

Whether by accident or on purpose,
Whether mandatory or optional,
I can't help but see
That our future will be dismal.

The other day I asked
That if circumstances were to change,
If we'd still be friends,
Or if we'd just be strange.

And I've always wondered
That if you truly cared for me,
Why have you never expressed it?
I know that you would have, certainly.

You tell others all the time,
And you tell me as well,
How great some of your friends are,
But you leave me as a shell.

Where are my compliments?
Where is my love?
Why do I get no appreciation?
Not even a shove?

You write off my achievements,
You forget my advice.
You give others my words,
As if it is truly your vice.

I'm sick, but not done.
I'm tired, but not down.
And the more you make me feel,
The more I am the clown.

I give you my heart
And you give me the hand.
I ask to you slow down
And you tell me to land.

You make my head spin:
"Why are we friends?"
"Simply because we've always been?"
"Are you just following trends?"

You told me we wouldn't be,
You never told me we are.
I grab for it subtly,
And you raise the bar.

You're creating a buffer,
Between you and I.
And to share you a secret:
I want to make you cry.