She Says

Sat on a cold, hard, shapeless plastic chair

In a sterile hotel corridor,

which smells of damp towels,

disinfected of life.

Sipping on tasteless tea,

brought from an overpriced machine,

whilst the love of your life,

is in the wedding suite,

sipping on champagne,

making love to a man with bigger muscles,

but not much to say.

You tell yourself he's allright

and you're happy for her,

whilst pretending,

you can't hear her high pitched moans,

which fracture,

the fine wine glass rim of your feelings,

and his,

low frequency mumbles,

like earthquake tremors,

to the very structure of your manhood,

because when she's done,

you're giving her a lift home,

like you always do,

because you're friends,

she told you so,

and you agreed.