| At times I’ve shouted out unprovoked, at the world and you
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| Just to see if the people around me react
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| Sometimes I think they’re all acting
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| At times I’m scared that I’m acting too. |
| Like
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| My movements or stage directions?
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| Was that a change in topic or a beat in a scene?
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| Have I been taking my emotional cues from a script I wrote at sixteen?
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| Maybe I just think about it all so much
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| That that the fear stays close to all the ghosts I’ve touched
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| Makes me question
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| Was it love or just lust?
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| Caked in blood or old rust?
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| I don’t know
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| Don’t we remember all the moments we remember the best
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| Framed in poems and in pictures, sang aloud in refrains?
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| Does this cycle of pain and disdain for the past
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| Not work exactly the same?
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| Maybe it’s just as much about what comes our way as it is how we react
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| Just as much about the things that we’ve still got as it is about the things we
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| lack
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| I know, we won’t always keep around those we feel we need-
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| Some are fading in frames, some were born to leave-
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| But if we’re still here, and we still breathe
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| At least we’ve still got time to figure it out
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| To know what to do
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| To know how to feel
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| Know the things that I’ve been making up inside my head
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| And to know what’s real
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| I want to believe that the way I am is just the way it goes
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| For the things that came, not the things I chose to come
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| I want to know if I had any control
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| I want to know if it’d comfort me
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| And if my heart just stops, pack my memories in it-
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| I want to know all the love I’ve got
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| And if my heart just stops, keep me alive for a minute-
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| I want to know if a curtain drops |