I didn't want to believe them;
I wished to maintain my faith
in who I thought she was;

I was proven wrong.
Oh, so very wrong.
Over and over again.

They were right about her
and I should have listened
instead of assuming I knew her.

Word spreads much like a wildfire:

"Drunk on Ego and rather mean,"
I fear they were right about her.

"Narcissistic **** of a basket case,"
I should have listened to every word.

"Fun, until you get too close and start to care,"
it seems they knew how it goes;

"Gets under another to get over herself"

Okay, to be fair,
on one hand
everyone needs a rebound sometimes,
but,
on the other hand,
she never stops bounding
from one
to the next
to the next
and back
then to the next
and et cetera
ad infinitum;

both behind your back
and right to your face.

That ****
will never be the same;
sure glad it's not mine
to maintain.

Such a shallow temptress.
Such a public Temple.

That ****
will never be the same;
sure glad she's not mine
to entertain.

I covet not her Temple,
for few exist more heavily trafficked
that don't charge palpable admission
for maintenance; unless, of course,
that's where the copious volumes of ***** come in.

Word seems to spread
quicker than her legs
for her latest fancy,
which is really no small feat.

Word seems to get around,
just as what's said of the fair Strumpet;
and, unfortunately but unsurprisingly,
they are ******* right about her.