Whenever you speak to me
…you always tell me what to do.
…you inspect the work I give to you.
…you talk about how your days went.
…you say random facts about the world,
and I knew not of what you meant.
…you always say her name.
…you begin to tell your tale,
and I simply nod my face so pale.
…you ask me of who I like
and when you do, the conversation ends.
If this goes on, I would end up
hating disliking you.