Stage Fright

It's true that we're all actors, But the best of us don't know it; The ones with glee and rage, who aren't afraid to show it, But some of us were born, with consciences too small: While watching others mourn, we feel nothing at all. Without a doubt, we're the worst people, You'll never find us in a steeple. Perhaps we'll live under your bed, Or as the demons in your head. Wherever we go, we bring dread, And we don't care, because we're dead. We're the ones who realize, No man lives after he dies, It makes us feel nigh dead inside, Until the day that we have died. What saves us from an early time, Is finding others with like-minds, But sometimes we only find one, And good thoughts die, once they've gone. We're the ones who hope surpasses, When tears squeeze through our eyelashes. Burning questions sear our tongues, As we choke on smoke filled lungs, Ever fearful to reach out, Once someone has shown us doubt.