The bastard's been in here masturbating again.
The absence of offending odors
and the lingering heat in the seat
belies his extended presence here
without utilizing the toilet for it's intended purpose.
You'd think that after 7 years of marriage
it would occur to him that I'm profoundly aware
of what he gets up to in here...
because we damn sure don't get up to it
in the bedroom any longer.
Where's the intimacy in titillating yourself with a picture
of a woman that only exists on paper?
Because I assure you, she's not naturally that perky...
Those tits have been touched up more than a prizefighter's face.
You'd be amazed
how easy it is to photoshop perfection these days...
how easy it is to photoshop perfection these days...
The computer can remove wrinkles
that God himself would struggle with.
that God himself would struggle with.
Age melts away at the touch of a button.
Smiles can be morphed to transmit the proper seductive sentiment.
It's like crafting your ideal woman-
Frankenstein's sex slave.
There's no love there.
But, then again, there's no love here either.
For him
there's more in a minute of fantastical ecstasy
than a lifetime of true love and affection.
His life is mired in delusion-
His life is mired in delusion-
However-
I was once told that the definition of insanity
was taking the same course of action repeatedly
and expecting a different outcome,
so maybe I'm the one who's crazy...
What I can't conjure is why I stay
when he's cheating me out of love at every pass
and he'll never understand...
and he'll never understand...
Infidelity is not the act of intercourse,
it's all about intentions:
and by that rationale he's been leaving me since the moment we met.
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