The other ones were simple play
Us, though, for real in ev’ry way
Hurt brings life to shadow of death
you walk, not talk, with silent breath; our growth at bay.
Mind in turmoil, throat has a lump,
Our future can’t end o’er a bump!
It wasn’t that bad — or was it?
Obsessing turns into a fit, mood takes a dump.
O’er the months, the pattern was seen
You were merely toying with me
Pins and needles, a nervous wreck
Ill intent to every trek – lord over we.