The Other Woman

The other woman will always weep herself to sleep
Only to be reminded that she is nothing but cheap
A facade for cameras, her life slips through her hands
Amidst notoriety and disrepute she stands

The other woman with eyes comprised of zircon
Only to be extolled as a guerdon, not a person
Lamenting the throne she retains, so reclusive
Yearning hopelessly for paradise to be conducive

The other woman sees no aspiration in this life
She saunters tranquilly and raises the knife
In death she will discover her longed bliss
But honey don't forget, you will be missed.

© Nicolette T. | 2017