More than a colleague, I called you my friend,
was a miscalculation – I found in the end.
The sordid agenda you’ve had all along,
is banefully evil and morally wrong.
You’re a smooth operator who’s casting out bait,
while leaking exchanges to make you look great.
Looking for tidbits, any presence of clues
from close conversations – to package and use.
You twist and embellish to thwart the benign,
make the slightest infractions seem way out of line.
You draw me in closer with kudos and praise,
solicit exposure for skinny that pays.
You think you can profit at my own expense
with one-sided stories, and sans my defense.
You’ve got quite a talent for appearing sincere,
and a hidden stiletto you thrust from the rear.
To not see it coming was a fault of my own,
you seemed to be lovely, but your cover’s been blown.
Your character’s damaged – that’s perfectly clear,
what isn’t so glaring is what you hold dear.
So, what compensation could make it feel right,
ignore all the damage and sleep well at night?
Do you really believe that there’s something to gain,
while someone who cared for you weathers the pain?
You might get a title, a bonus, a raise,
a desk by a window or a few extra days.
You’re a pawn like the rest, only more of a mole
that thinks you’ll progress just by selling your soul.
To think you’ll be valued is simply a fable,
all you’ve achieved is a deprecate-label.
And once you’re exhausted and tossed to the side,
you’ll find your connections have withered and died.
For trust is a virtue that’s valued the most,
and once that’s been broken, you’re only a ghost.