I once had a friend,
the best I’d ever had.
From when I was but six years old,
we played from dawn till dusk.
We laughed beneath the summer sun,
content and always glad,
though none would ever join our games
or see him where he stood.
I once had a friend,
one of the best I’d had.
Though years had passed and we grew apart
before I was a teen,
he came to me one moonless night
and spoke beside my bed.
He said he missed our childish games,
those days so bright and glad,
before he mocked and taunted me,
and filled my heart with dread.
I once had a friend,
though not the best I’d had.
He changed as every year went by,
more cold with every breath.
He whispered foul and wicked things
that churned within my head:
“We ought to kill your mom and dad.”
Then smiling softly, said,
“You know I’m only joking, friend.
Why look at me with fear?”
But deep within, I knew he lied.
I once had a friend,
one I had trusted well.
I begged my parents through my tears
to make him go away.
Yet all they said was,
“You must stop pretending now.”
My father, pale with worry, sighed,
“You’ve spoken of this friend
since you were very young.”
I once had a friend,
a thing not born of men.
He first appeared beside my bed
when I was only six.
A crooked claw before his lips,
he bade me not to scream.
Through sharpened teeth and forkéd tongue,
he whispered with a grin,
“Be patient now. Stay quiet, child.
When you are older,
we shall have such fun.”
I once had a friend,
the worst I’d ever had.
He came to me again tonight,
cloaked thick in blood and filth.
“It’s time we both descend below,
down to my hidden den,
where we shall dwell forevermore
as everlasting pals.”
Frozen still with terror,
I could not move nor stand.
I only stared into his eyes
as he reached forth his hand.
I once had a friend.
I wish he’d been pretend.
