He's back, he's back, my torment is back.
That little grey pain in the small of my back: 
	his hollowness haunts me,
	he teases and taunts me,
	he jerks me around 
	as I feign he still wants me.

It stresses me maybe to think that my baby's
not anything near what I think that he may be. 
	But rather illusion
	or worse, a delusion,
	a manic concoction of
	hopeful confusion.

I gave him my power?  I'm lost when he's near me?
The fires within me don't comfort, but sear me? 
	Why burn from this pain
	with no purpose or gain
	as I lose my direction
	to find I'm insane...

But all is not lost yet, I tell myself, trying:
Not fawning nor failing, nor sitting here crying.
	'Tis best that I greet it
	this game that he's meted,
	though odds seem against me,
	I still may complete it!

Those future men within whom I shall be
Will aid me in this too, for they can see:
And I shall learn what they shall have me know
Should I but trust, then truly I shall grow...