I want friends like you and yours.
Who miss me.
And worry about my wrists.
Just like they worry about each other.
I want people to constantly worry about me like I do them.
And worry about losing me.
And miss me like crazy.
But I guess that's just how it is for me.
I guess that's just how it works.
So I'll but you in a jar,
And watch as you all blossom.
And leave scars in my wake.
Hoping that someone remembers me.
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