Means to an End

You say to say what I mean
I say I mean what I say
You say that I'm just mean
What else is there to say?

I abhor a bore
My love, your whore
I abhor a bore
Your love, my whore

I think I'm on the ceiling, but I'm really on the floor
I feel like I've lived this moment one hundred times before
I knew a broken typewriter that looked a lot like you
I want open windows, but I only get your closed doors
I hope this isn't insanity, only deja vu

Your hand
the door
My head
the floor