I'm a hundred-piece puzzle,
That is very near complete.
You can see me from my hair,
Down on to my feet.
Yet in the middle somewhere,
There's a spot that's gone astray.
A piece I continue to look for,
Each and every day.
I've tried to fit things there,
Though none of them seem to function.
So I'm left with a missing piece,
At my two lungs' junction.
Lots of times it's fine,
It doesn't bother me one bit.
But I'd like to find a piece,
That maybe would finally fit.
Other times it hurts,
Reminding me of the empty space.
Desparately seeking to be filled,
And not an empty, barren place.
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