Dancer

I write this as I watch you dance. The song is sensual, yet my heart aches. I hear your heavy breathing, yet your heart doesn't. I hear your giggle, the smile in your voice. How dare he make you feel like that? How dare it be his choice? You may be drunk and may be high, but when you look at me, I feel my own. (Without getting red in the eye) How dare I be mad at him. How dare I be mad at you? Why do I feel so possessive? Why do I even care? I can't help having conflicted views. You're a dancer, and the type to flirt with friends. And that's all we are anyway, right? Friends? God, I'm so confused.