12:05
happy happy happy
birthday
dear Soldier-under-my-Flappers-breastbone.
the infectious skin I have
seems to be healing,
but, like,
it itches like the Dickens.
dear Soldier-under-a-already-occupied-chest
did you
have a
happy happy happy
birthday
my Flappers breastbone says blatantly,
you
must
be
no writer
if you cant make stories out of three
misplaced boys
















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