Stuck inside this pants,
Unable to get air that I want,
Squeezed by the manly thighs,
I choke but mostly I get high,
At least am never alone,
My somehow identical friend empathizes
with me,
He is held a distant lower near the
knee,
He says his name is Ball,
Guess what I’m Ball too,
Our population is only two,
Our other friends live inside the body,
We are left outside me, Ball and woody,
Woody works in the slippery of places,
He says he likes the tightest of spaces,
We help each other though he doesn’t ever
invite us inside,
With his message to come we’ve always
replied,
Only for him to snob us thereafter,
With his seizure like laughter,
I & ball think we are just being
used,
I think we are sometimes abused,
We are looking for new friends like the
liver,
Maybe the heart I hear he is loyal,
To make us feel loved and royal,
For now we wait for our invitation
within.
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