We are not friends.  

My trust in you has been broken.  

Your words are but letters,  

a shadow of lies and deceit shadowing them.   

No sentence paragraph or novel can remedy that,   

because your actions spoke the truth.  

Those very actions that ran your knife into my back.  

The actions that made your mask fall off.  

The action you knew would hurt me but was taken anyway.   

No we are not friends.  

Yet we are not enemies.  

Because the saddest part about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies.  

It never comes from the person you hate most.  

Besides hating is too good for you.  

Hating  gives you too much power.  

Hating you would keep me trapped in the toxic waste you have enveloped my life in.   

We are not friends.    

We are not enemies.  

We are merely strangers with memories.