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Questions, anyone?

Question marks are the most common thing in my life
On my mind, on my paper, through my strife
To everyone else I make less than zero sense
I just wish I could say they were wrong, but I digress
The mark of ruins, the chain to nothing
It feels like I'm not saying something
The pit of palpability, the curved-straight strike
It looks the same as it feels in my mind.
I may be smiling, I may look sublime
But for all you know, I'm committing mental crime.
The question marks kill me, I wanna find the answer
But inside my mind I'm an imprisoned dancer
Moving to the rhythm of the forsaken smile
I hope to find the answer in a little while
To break free of my chains,
not inhibit myself
To break free of my question mark
and build some sense of stealth.





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