Hall of mirrors.

I know, I let you gaslight me.

I dance upon your stage, a puppet so fine.

My strings being pulled, with your fingers so unkind.

I wander through the maze of your design.

This hall of mirrors.

You hold the glass and I see your lie.

It's a distorted truth, that I've learned to deny.

I know your tricks.

I know the way you bend your hands.

The way you weave the web, to make me disband.

My doubts and my intuition's voice,

All silenced by the echoes of your manipulative choice.

Still, I walk this maze, like a willing prey.

Like a puppet on strings, I dance in the darkness, swaying to your sway.

For in the heart of this labyrinth, right here on this stage, I've found a strange sense of comfort,

in the warmth of your gaslighting.

Yes, I'm a prisoner of my own making, trapped in your hall of mirrors.