Monthly Archives: April 2017



Save the name unspoken.  That’s my Beautiful.  My only, who breathes without me, can’t exist in the world by diary.  Every day I wait for your letters.  I check their dates hoping to read about Jared’s expiration.  Instead of tick-tock it’s wheezing to the final hour.  This life is just one of those things…it doesn’t matter.  We are not of this world.  We are of our own culture.  I am a mannequin.  How will you dress me, Jared?





Are you a man or a mouse?  We don’t like to think about it but I know you remember.  Remember our sister laid dead on the kitchen floor for thirteen whole minutes.  You had to make a choice.  Now you chose not to write me back.  I’m already a hurt person, Jarred.  Stop trying so hard to make me worse than you, when my letters help you to be all you need.  Those letters remember the forgotten Jarred.  I know how much you hate reading them through the night.  I know you hate that can’t hate me enough.  The remembered Jarred competes with his wife to sleep with more women than she does men.  He won’t mention what he thinks he eisnt supposed to know.  The Jarred I’m writing now is wearing my old saran wrap across his face.  Give it up, brother.  You can’t wipe your spirit in alcohol like me.  We’re not the same…but we’re close enough.  As you try to wash away your sin.  Listen to God.  Let me know what he has to say about Skil, your unborn son.  Last chance, Jarred.

Are you a man or a mouse?




Dear Jarred,

Every time I wield this pen it scars the paper with my confessions.  You know my heart.  It has pumped every deadly sin that turned my spirit black.

The flavors of many boys and men and women sit on my tongue.  I can’t talk, Jarred.  My lungs have been burned and charred to ash from the bodies…and dare I mention the glory.

Glory burns, brother.  Now I’m speechless without enough words to beg your forgiveness.  You were the first scratch to my itch.  You’ll be my first breath of fresh air.




P. S. I need a new inhaler too.



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