Every night Peter would remove his bones and curl in on himself, chewing on his legs as the
wind sang him to sleep, he had to do this so he could roll over the next morning and get out
of bed.
His mother said he breathed too loud sometimes, she didn't understand that he was humming,
whistling through his appendages in Gm.
Peter would sing for his friends though, he would sing for them until their ears bled, sitting in
their pockets far away from the crushing soles of prepubescent boys, guitar strings vibrating
his body into goo five foot above the ground.
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