I hate that feeling when my stomach falls again.
I knew it would happen, but I hoped it wouldn’t be him.
Why is my mind mixed up with so many things?
It’s all there, but it’s him who I see.
He sits there and looks at me, a growing pleasure,
Of torturing, you know I’ll never know for sure.
What does he actually think of me inside his head?
Does he know how I’ve felt, what I did?
How I sacrificed so much to talk to him?
How I kept his secrets, his passions, his fibs?
I'm too close, too confused to make a guess,
So maybe I should step back to see the rest.