A bride in white

With the lace trim

And satin slippers, whispers

Cautious as the groom strolls

For she knows that he lies

But she hides

And she cries

And she bides her time

Trying to get it just right

Potent is the dish

In which revenge sits

But she wishes

Oh she wishes

That it wouldn’t end like this

But fate has other plans

As the grooms men stroll

Taking tallies of the delicious whims

And dances of the girls last night

Soaking up the boose

And the drugs too

Groom lost his hand

But found it again

At least

That is how the story goes

told to the waiting bridesmaid

On the front page of the news stand

But she of course didn’t listen

Wouldn’t wish this in any man

Or women, for that matter

And yet we sit in the closet

Bride holding the blade in hand

While the groom lays on the ground

Retelling the story from the news stand

As the braidmaids listen

and the grooms men walk

Only to sit by because lies aren’t enough

So the groom goes to reach

Guess he found his hand agian

But oh wait…

It’s gone!