Looks a lot like you, doesn’t she?
Even that mole on her left cheek.
The bastard wanted a clone of you
and when I met her in the pub
could have scratched her eyes out.
Wouldn’t have done a scrap of good.
That was why I kept my cool.
He promised to love you
in sickness and in health.
What a joke and so cruel.
The only one he loves is himself.
He’s still a kid, deep inside,
acting out his Walter Mitty world.
Pretending everything’s all right
even though you might have
only a few months left to live.
Said he couldn’t stand the stress
of not planning for the future.
Didn’t want to end up alone
or words to that effect,
that’s why he shacked up with her.
A sort of back-stop, an understudy,
ready groomed for the part who’d jump
straight in, fill your shoes
as and when required.
Today you’re in remission
and now he’s stalling for time.
Suggests you three be friends
but then he lives in a dream-world
and girl you’d better believe it
like hell you had!
You know you’re mad.
You don’t need me to tell you.
But what’s the alternative?
What choice is there to make
if you’re insane enough
to keep on loving him?
Doesn’t deserve you, the prick!
Sorry, but it gets me going
just thinking of it.
All those nights on your own
when he went to shag her.
Pull yourself together though.
Best close the cupboard door,
put those pills back on the shelf.
Mirror’s all steamed up now.
Can’t even talk to myself