THREE SIDES TO EVERY STORY
I am the wife; the loving, faithful wife.
His children’s mother and, he says, his life.
He tells me he loves me, brings me roses
And I believe him, he supposes.
And yes, I do believe he loves me in his way.
Love that we’ve had can’t simply fade away.
But he’s not mine alone, I know full well.
He forgets I never wear Chanel.
I am the husband, wracked with guilt,
Trapped in the web of lies I’ve built.
I know in my heart the right thing to do.
I stood in church and vowed to be true.
But I was weak and fell for temptation
And find myself in this situation.
I have to end it, I know for sure.
But, before I do, just one week more.
I’m the scarlet woman, mistress if you will.
My part in the story, a once a week thrill.
A cameo role in a tale of deceit.
A tale that for me must end in defeat.
He says he’ll leave her; I know that’s not true.
But things might change if only she knew.
So I’ve thought of a plan to make him mine.
I’ve sprayed his shirt with Chanel Number nine.
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