Some Kind Of Best Friend

*This poem is a peice of shit, just letting you know before you waste your time reading it.*

I was going to write you a meaningful poem....
But instead I got high.
To say I could help you with your problems
would be some kind of lie.

You sit there and you say
All kinds of shit happening in your house
I sit here and complain
about how I had some kind of day.

I'm sorry, I'm not listening,
I heard what you said
I'm sorry you feel that way
Why don't you play some kind of death.

Babe, I didn't mean that,
you're supposed to mean everything to me
It's the pills, taking over my mind,
It's some kind of feeling.

I know I'm never there
and I wonder why I'm still in your head
Why do you still care?
I must be some kind of best friend.

*sadly enough, this is true. Last night my best friend was trying to talk to me, and she was saying all this stuff about how her life was so much better when I was there. All I could say was, stop. Stop making me seem so nice. And I just went off on her. I wasn't thinking straight, stupid cough medicine. I just don't see what she sees in me. I'm not that wonderful. Sorry.*