If with you there is nothing to gain,
Then you will always be my favourite kind of pain.

They ask me why I still talk to you,
Perhaps it’s because I don't truly believe we're through.

So I book another appointment,
Met with yet another disappointment.

I’d say I believe everyone deserves a second chance,
But so many later I’m not sure I’m worth a second glance.

I wish I could expel the emotions in my heart,
Whilst I remain silent, allowing myself to fall apart.

Why do I do this to myself?
When you’ve already put us on the shelf.

At times I find myself craving your pain,*
Even if there is nothing to gain.