Monthly Archives: November 2016

Flavors of Rofus

11/07/2016

Dear Jarred,

I’m going to tell you about my new inhaler.  Last time my wanting you to know, scared you away from ever wanting to learn.  Now you need to know.  I am merely a lover, Jarred.  You can hardly call me a brother, but I am anything for you.  I can’t stay away, especially knowing your hatred.  You still read my letters.  You’re addicted to me.  I love it.    

Rofus’s flavor, the latest air I breathed, was very unique.  He wasn’t sweet like you, or spicy like Libby.  He had less tang than Chuck, yet more zest than Mr. Ashley.  Rofus’s flavor was unique in the way oatmeal is bland.  I loved it.  

The way his smooth lumps slid down my throat was what laid me down at night.  His aroma fused well with rope burns and rubbed leather.  My finger, the same one I give the suck for you, is twirling in my belly button as I write.  Rofus was a palate worthy of sacrifice.  Make him thicker.  Add some cinnamon, metal, whip cream, or butter.  I’m a collector, Jarred.  As a particular man who has tastes for interesting flavors, Rofus made me lick my lips all over.  The way his ass smashed down on that bar stool was how he smashed down on my face.  I breathed him in, Jarred.  I ate the air from his ass.  I will always love it.

Sincerley,

Jared

P. S. My lungs don’t ache today.

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Another Love Letter

10/28/2016

Dear Jarred,

Promises, promises…love and poison.

I took myself and delivered myself to a life of poison.  You remember watching me hurt.  I remember wishing it were Libby.  Sweet on the lips and flipping in the belly, lovely poison.  What is a taste but the beginning of a bite to an indulgence in the meal.  Yum.

Thank you Jarred.  I don’t itch anymore.  I hunger.  I growl for the flavors of saltiness, sweets, bitters, and copper.  Sometimes I suck my little finger to reminiscence in your twang.   A love is not a love unless it makes you cry, demands you bleed, then leaves you shaking from want and struggle to work and feel for victory.  You were my tears.  Libby was my blood.  He is my tremble.

CHUCK.

I can finally pen his name.  CHUCK.

Promises, promises… love and poison.  There is no freedom from lovely poison.  This is not me dreaming or screaming or bitching again.  You know me like I know how much you hate to love me.  It used to be scary but now I’m glad.

You were right about my lovely Chuck.  I tried to set him free like Libby, may she rest in pieces.

Sincerely,

Jared

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