New

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.

 

Love,

Jared

P. S. I need a new inhaler too.

 

 

Advertisements

Posted on April 6, 2017, in Dark Comedy, Fiction, Humor, Jared Letters, Letter, poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

Read After Burnout

Adventures in Everyday Madness

Flashfic

Flash fiction writer

No Purpose Club

Go Aimless , Live Life...

fuck the lemonade

when life gives you lemons #fuckthelemonade make art instead

thedrabble.wordpress.com/

Shortness of Breadth

Sally Cortés

"Érase una vez una gitana, que escribía historias de amor"

A Mind

Jack Bennett

Rachel Being Chatty

Now featuring 15% more sarcasm.

emmakwall (explains it all)

Film & soundtrack reviews, good humour and lists

Rum-n-Raisins

You'll get to taste both!

Little Fears

Tales of whimsy, humor and courgettes

%d bloggers like this: