Venting for my sake, and I rather think mine alone
First they step on your coat tails and, once you've stumbled they, tread across you, then turn and offer a hand while insisting they have been a perfectly dear companion. So what am I to do? Shatter fragile friendships with an untimely blow of harsh honesty or simply keep brushing off the footprints on the coat tails and swallowing that bitter taste?
The former sounds delightfully deserved, yet I dare not risk that it is my self-righteous, self-pitying imagination that leads me to believe that I have been wronged and robbed, then smiled at so fondly that I am sick.
And yet I feel the cry 'reformation or resignation' that I have choked back for quite some time.