Dear Diary

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Working night, working day
Like a well-oiled machine, you are on your way
“Later babes,” hell that’s all you say
God open his eyes I often pray

Treat me like something, not your wife
Like some sort of tool, maybe just to ease up life
For all we talk about are your problems and strife
I sometimes wish I could just draw a knife

But I know better, violence is not the option
I’m tired of talking; a part of me says deception
That will do the trick, and ease my frustration
Someone else to show some love and affection

And as for Mr. Machine, he can keep doing his do
Once he fills up my account we’re good, and he won’t have a clue
So that’s all for now diary I’m through
It’s time for husband number two





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