This is a chillingly heavy and dark take on the concept of an 'Old Friend.' Usually, that title implies comfort and safety, but this poem flips that on its head. It shows how someone who knows your 'rhythm' and your 'dreams' can use that deep intimacy to keep you 'bound.' It’s a portrait of someone 'winning' a friendship by making the other person lose, watching them like a bug under a microscope rather than a human being. Honestly, it’s pathetic how some people mistake a friend’s longing for connection as an invitation to exercise power and control. They turn your vulnerability into their entitlement.
You said it perfectly. I wrote this when I was trying to understand an old friend's betrayal. I remember they told me "don't isolate" after they did everything to make sure I was excluded and never checked in when I was unwell. "Old Friend" is my way of expressing that pain, and rationalizing what happened. Thank you for reading it so closely; I appreciate it.
What holds here is the sestina’s pressure on voice rather than ornament. The repetition of rhythm and murmur becomes a moral engine, tightening until self assurance shades into exposure. The speaker’s claims of steadiness are steadily unsettled by the very refrains meant to secure them, so that consolation, blame, and care begin to blur. I am especially interested in how “home” shifts from refuge to weapon and back again, and how the poem allows complicity to surface through cadence rather than declaration. The final turns resist closure, leaving unease intact. That restraint gives the work its authority.
This is a chillingly heavy and dark take on the concept of an 'Old Friend.' Usually, that title implies comfort and safety, but this poem flips that on its head. It shows how someone who knows your 'rhythm' and your 'dreams' can use that deep intimacy to keep you 'bound.' It’s a portrait of someone 'winning' a friendship by making the other person lose, watching them like a bug under a microscope rather than a human being. Honestly, it’s pathetic how some people mistake a friend’s longing for connection as an invitation to exercise power and control. They turn your vulnerability into their entitlement.
You said it perfectly. I wrote this when I was trying to understand an old friend's betrayal. I remember they told me "don't isolate" after they did everything to make sure I was excluded and never checked in when I was unwell. "Old Friend" is my way of expressing that pain, and rationalizing what happened. Thank you for reading it so closely; I appreciate it.
I love the rhythm of your writing here, it was beautiful to read
So many great lines in this piece! Love it!
One line I can’t get out of my head is "that fear is so frail; I know she'll find a new rhythm." There’s hope there, but it feels fragile.
What holds here is the sestina’s pressure on voice rather than ornament. The repetition of rhythm and murmur becomes a moral engine, tightening until self assurance shades into exposure. The speaker’s claims of steadiness are steadily unsettled by the very refrains meant to secure them, so that consolation, blame, and care begin to blur. I am especially interested in how “home” shifts from refuge to weapon and back again, and how the poem allows complicity to surface through cadence rather than declaration. The final turns resist closure, leaving unease intact. That restraint gives the work its authority.
this was wonderful, i really resonated with the line "it was a little sad how shame kept her bound". thanks for sharing:)
I enjoyed this! Keep writing. I’m here for it.
Loved the rhyme scheme of tears, peers and clears. It really hooked me to finish the rest of the poem. 🕊️