Why did my cheating hurt her so?
It didn't count, I thought she'd know.
We’d fought through years of fat and lean,
she pointed fingers, I came clean.
I always was the one who strayed,
I thought that’s how the game was played.
I’d beg for mercy, no excuse,
it was a form of spouse abuse.
She’d hate me for a while, but then,
forgiveness flowed, we’d start again.
I often grappled with my guilt,
on shaky sands my honour built.
I tried to be an honest guy
but Venus always caught my eye.
That Goddess showed in many shapes,
lured me into cheating scrapes.
Then suddenly, I’m not sure why,
I made a vow, to stick not fly.
To give my patient, gorgeous wife
respectful love, and no more strife.
This time I knew I’d keep my word,
my escapades now seemed absurd.
My happy peaceful settled home
met all my needs, I’d never roam.
Until one day at work I fell
and banged my head, I felt unwell.
The medic sent me home to rest,
the searing pain burned in my chest.
I needed to go straight to bed,
so climbed the stairs, with pounding head.
I stumbled through the bedroom door,
bellowed "you bitch!", sank to the floor.
For what I saw, the final straw,
stuck like a fishbone in my craw.
My cheating wife, in flagrante,
screaming, like a whore from Dante.
As I expired I shouted, “Shit!”,
this truly was the biter bit.
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