There is a point to your charades.
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I had those vague gestures bagged before yesterday.
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You ignore each other's questions.
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Somehow your shoulders can freeze a room.
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It's high time you broke icicles from under your heart.
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Tell the truth.
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Let them melt in the turmoil and run down gutters to the bay.
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Your next smile could be seconds away.
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I'm slipping on your icy stares.
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Vibes stifled by by your lack of care.
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Wounds like fangs in your mouth penetrate the skin.
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Starved for caresses as venom rushes in.
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One can't breathe while choked with puppet strings.
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Second hand lacerations.
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Tossing and turning the page before it's red
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with the blood you know can't hide behind a frozen exchange.
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The clock ticks you off.
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Asks the same questions.
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So what are you after?
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How can tears turn to laughter?
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So what are you after?
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-----------------
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Icy Shoulder
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DESA |