but I don't think I'm going to give it to you.
You don't deserve friends like me.
Sometimes,
when my eyes get tired and fuzzy,
I think the birthmarks on my arms are little freckle-bugs crawling on my skin.
I try to scratch them off in my exhausted state,
but they are immune to my fingernails.
And as I drift off to sleep,
they become my friends.
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