Poison in the air. 

Deadly, it's suffocating. 

Cutting off my air supply. 

Making me feel less confident. 

Making me feel unsure. 

Your eyes watching me. 

I can't concentrate. 

My thoughts, an endless jumble. 

My words slip and I stutter. 

Intimidation. 

Your smile. 

You like to see me, suffer? 

Worried when I get scared? 

What's this? 

I freak out and you grow quiet. 

Is that worry in your eyes? 

You talk and talk about me. 

But only to laugh or explain how mad I make you feel. 

Say to my face. 

No, you won't. 

You can't even look me in the eye. 

Each week, you have new tricks. 

That's how he is. 

But, no. 

He's picked me, zoned in on me. 

And, I feel victimized, attacked. 

He won't leave me alone. 

I should've known since the first time I saw him. 

Trouble, like Taylor Swift said.