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Something has been stopping me. It’s not just me, but a whole list of reasons.
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I’ve got to wake up. And see.
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People always seem to be writing, Expecting it to always come to an end.
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If this isn’t real,
Then I don’t know what else could be.
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There is nothing to see. Don’t show the beauty in me.
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Thinking is all I’ve been doing.
I can’t sleep during the night.
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The 1st of July, and I can’t wait any longer.
It feels like a couple of days have turned into a year.
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It’s not as if you’re gone.
But in a way you are.
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Could I find the strength?
If I believed.
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Someone once told me to stop wanting and be content.
I asked how I’m supposed to do that.
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I want to escape.
From this pain.
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I fell apart just Friday.
Found out that maybe you don’t care.
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You’re confusing me.
Hold back.
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I can’t believe the things you say.
Nothing that comes from your mouth is the truth.
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I wish it were a simpler time.
Back when days went on for months.
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I want to get out of here.
I want to move somewhere.
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I don’t want this.
I don’t want to be me.
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Looking out the back door.
Invisible demons stand surprised.
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I smile at the argument behind me.
I smile at the fact this isn’t going to stop.
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I miss you like I’ve been put to sleep.
I forgot you for a minute.
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I agreed.
I can’t play God.
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I want to write something here.
Something now.
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I’m sick of having these dreams about you.
And no matter what I say, no matter what I do.
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It’s seems you have schizophrenia.
One minute you’re her the next you’re,
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I always used to say before tonight.
That they were wrong, and I was right.
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Thinking back.
I’ve been thinking back.
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There’s always a fucking bad side.
There’s always a fucking good side.
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This time it’s gone too far.
Got to stop wishing on that stupid fuckin’ star.
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You sit there and tell me how to live my life.
But you’ve been on your own longer than I have.
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Just waiting for the postman to arrive, is the best thing that happens every week.
I sit by the front door, look to the empty kitchen, and my sink has started to leak.
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People are leaving the direction of the door.
And no one is dreaming of a life anymore.
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This room is cold. / We both thought we’d live here for eternity. / But the candle in the corner has run out of wax to burn. / And the fireplace at the side has run out of wood to set on fire. / You set my heart
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Tightened in your embrace...
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Our paranoia and acts of hate.
Our psychedelic minds.
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I miss what I regret. And, although, I regret what I miss.
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