He was that
sort of man.
The sort of man
Mum said
not to mix with.
I mixed
with him.
When I say mixed
I mean had sex
with him
married him
sat with him
talked with him
met his friends.
He liked me
because I was me
and not
anyone else.
But he liked
that skinny b***h
at his office
more than me
because she
was herself
and not me.
I liked it when
he was nice.
He could be nice.
But once he met her
and screwed her
he wasn't so nice.
A friend told me
he was screwing
the b***h at the office
because she worked there
and the b***h
had told her
she was having it away
with him not knowing
he was married
to me but boasting
he was a good lover.
He was that
sort of man.
He was that sort.
He was.
I bottled them both
in our bed.
Wine bottle.
Half full or half empty
depending how
you look at things.
I was that sort
of woman.
I was that sort.
I was.