The speaker is caught up with someone whose words they can't trust. Everything this person says sounds carefully planned, yet the speaker can't tell what is real. The repeated "Lie truth lie" captures that dizzy back-and-forth, as if honesty and deception keep trading places and never settle.
The imagery of breath runs through the whole thing. The words are "swirling like smoke," polluting the air, draining oxygen, then settling like fog. Talking becomes a kind of suffocation, and the odd note "{*lungs*}" near the top seems to hint at that physical sensation from the start. The line "Words words words words" piles up to show how overwhelming it all feels.
Then comes the admission: "It hurts like hell. / You are beautiful." The speaker is drawn to the person despite the pain and says "I can't quit you." The mood is anxious, breathless, and torn between longing and exhaustion. The ending makes the trap clear: the speaker can't figure this person out, and can't even breathe near them.