In a world where people are fingers and toes, I suppose you are the one that I could never count on. 
And I tried and I tried but I could never hold you - things never added up like they were suppose to. 
Maybe you were suppose to be my stomach or throat,  making me feel like bile is covering my clothes. 
Or maybe you are my knotted hair or the fold of my stomach fat, but there's still that part of me that think you are better that that. 


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