I’m an adulterer of the worst kind,
I cheat on myself all the time,
When I get bored of her, of him, or society’s mind,
I have affairs with myself, a madman in rhyme.
I’m so absent whilst being present it’s a wonder my wife doesn’t think I am cheating on her. I don’t mean to be so lacking in presence physically but my body means nothing, it’s just material, it can be anywhere. I apologise, my mind has places to be, it’s chasing after my unsettled soul.