A Is Not For Effort

Whew he lies, and she smiles, cutting him up into paper shapes inside her mind and wondering, why're they all so fucked up? Am I complicit, do I need this, have I brought it on myself? And now to the symbolism and the the sign for the word: begin. No, I mean: again. No, I meant: fuck you anyway, it was vice versa; that's backwards for all my kin. How does your love go? Did it ever? Did you miss it? Flyers huh. A reward, yeah. You never write me anymore. I go where you'd will me, but only if you grab me up spryly and demand it, only an apology do we damn.