You call yourself a friend,   but I must be the exception   that proves the rule,   that begs the question,   can you open your mouth   and make a confession?   I don't mean a worm,   just to snag your attention.   Betrayed again, Judas blues.      Should I lionize myself,   and rake in the contempt,   try to chastise you   for not keeping me exempt   from all of these joys   of the usual blend,   mainly self-pity, self-hate and big syringe.   Hang in there, Jesus blues.