I’m bored of every second of every day

Wish you would call, just to say hey.

Wasting the minutes on your plan,

just to talk in such a post-modern way.

I’m suffering within this elongated room,

Visions of submission, and it’s not ever a quarter past noon.

“It’s all a mood”“I’m sad”“It’s so bad when they get mad”

Headlines, that broadcast all across the feed,

me, I’m full of lies.

Can’t even tell what makes me beat,

along she runs, she ever so tries.

I’ve been a figure of perfection, one too many times.

Purity or suppression it’s all so Romantic,

sis, Hey! we don’t talk anymore,

I wonder what happened, it’s all a bore.