Too Close For Comfort

She's right: I did it,

But I'd still call it progress.

It's my fault, I admit it,

But don't let it get you stressed.

I might have used your toothbrush once,

And I switched the names thinking "she's a dunce",

But I guess the only dunce I see, 

Is crazy, nutty, duncy me.

Okay, yeah, it's not my couch,

But even you have to agree that it looks better thrown out,

And maybe that's not all that this fuss is about,

But I know you'd rather have me than a dirty lout.

At first I didn't think it was bad,

To burn down every last thing you had,

But when you called the cops, it made me sad,

Because all I asked was that you clean up a tad.

And sitting in a cell isn't much fun,

Even though I'm not the only one,

Since when the whole thing was said and through,

Turns out I had some dirt on you, too.

But you're down the hall,

And what can I say,

Except that I don't like your yelling at me everyday.

I'm sick of the harassment,

And this cold entrapment,

But I know what I did, 

And I can't change it; no way.

I think you've gone nuts,

Because you even call,

At the crack of dawn (you've got guts),

Say "I know what you did!", and then nothing at all.