They say the worst fall is from a height,
But I argue it's from a friend, in plain sight.
It wasn't a cliff, or a stumble, or trip,
It was the whisper of poison, poured right to my lip.
You built me a safe space, painted it gold,
A story of loyalty, brave and bold.
I let down the drawbridge, opened the gate,
Said, "Come on in, friend, forget all the hate."
Then came the knife—not a loud, dramatic ...
