Poem: How It Ended?

A poem about the death of a friendship

When we were 12 he was my best friend,
at 22 he played the hand that had me arrested,
it’s fair to say it was a decade of ups and
downs, we both were clowns, together and
alone. Tethered at one point forever to the ideal
of meeting when we were young. When fun
was always just around the bend. Then shit
got real, and we got bent instead. It all went
the shape of a rotten pear. Were we just a
rotten pair? Perhaps — in the end.
Is this the end?