This, again.
I've found myself here:
My back is pressed against a wall, pinned there by you.
And your face, moving toward mine.
Your eyes are scrunched as if anticipating magic.
Today, I stained my lips red and now they won't part for you
except to sigh and answer questions we already know the answers to.

No, this isn't what I want.
No, I never wanted to be here.

This, again.
Saltwater stings as it runs down your windburned cheeks.
Your tears, not mine.
The raspy sound your breath makes between each sob repulses me.
And so do your downcast eyes, and wilted face.
The truth would cut you into pieces if only you knew it,
And I almost forgot to lie again.

No, this isn't what I want.
No, I never wanted to be here.

This, again.
No, not this, this isn't what I wanted.
I never wanted to be here.
And somehow, I keep finding myself with my back pressed against a wall...