An endless trap neglected to be seen
I find myself clinging to the scheme
Conceptual romance, called lunacy
Better things are coming rather slowly
Like the clothes folding

She orchestrates, collecting mishaps in jest
She rose beige and benign into the sunset
On the steps of my home, I noticed a little presage
She then sends galling annals in one text message

Hovering on your lawn
And wretched calls became a bad quest
Soft clouds traipse vastly like coy insects
Sloom the week, stapled to the mattress
My whole life has been nothing but this
Restless, princely, and a sad mess