Category Archives: Letter
My world is a dark place. Each life is too black to see the difference between blinks. When the light flickers it leaves shadow. The shadows have layered in my mind. They created.
It swallowed me sometimes but I always came out a new version of me. Help my dear brother, Jarred, do the same. We do our best unitl we don’t feel like it anymore. Make him feel again, Bonamy.
As a finale know I did my best.
May the dust fall
Coat the chest of the wanted
Choke soul from the Earth.
Evil flees our air as the earth breathes.
It will continue without me, set my brother free, and allow him joy. Asthma didn’t take me; I took me.
To whom it may concern:
My name is Jared.
You haven’t been careful and I don’t want to have to remind you about the correct procedure. There is only one rule for what we do.
Stay unattached. When you get attached, you get sloppy.
I’m not bailing you out again and we both know Jarred is not in the picture for now. Let’s meet at the club on 42nd tomorrow night. I’ll show you the chase and feed again.
Asthma is not your friend, Jared. She will kill you, if you let her. She’ll take your mind first… maybe you want that…to be with Libby or whatever.
Right now I’m all you have. Let’s figure this out before I change my mind and head to Seattle early.
I like writing you. You don’t give me a hard time for who I am or what I have to say. We get each other. We understand I can’t help myself and unlike Jared we’re strong enough to face Asthma. We’re smart enough to ache with her until she’s over. I am patient with myself, so I fed all day yesterday. The flavor was everything. It filled the black for the first time in a while. We’re getting close. When we’re free…we’ll finally find a new Libby. The warmth hits my throat and reminds me of her. I’m glad she’s dead but I still miss her.
Asthma is a good wife to me. She takes me places no woman has dared to go beyond. She makes me want and helps me remember to forget.
Jarred. Auntie. Mr. Ashley. Libby.
All of them are ashes in the dirt and dust in the air. I don’t walk or breath with Asthma.
We live. Tonight we’re going to drip again. I will fill her until the burning fades and I become numb from the cold.
We’ll always have each other. Jarred is hiding from Asthma hoping she won’t snatch and drag him into the Garden.
Myself knows better than to run from me. I was taught to chase. We are driven to eat.
Cheers to another pretty young babe dripping down my neck.
Growth…that’s what you’re calling it? I slave over these letters to remind you of your roots…and you insult me with growth! The only thing different about you is you’ve gotten better at pretending.
I’m real because I feel with my eyes open. I smell with my nostrils flared and grab with both hands. You do hate yourself. That’s why you coined yourself a “mannequin”, remember?
Only you can dress the New Jarred. The old one could move on his own and didn’t need clothes. He was unattached to this world.
My Brother knew Asthma; its grip and how it makes you starve until you become another man. The Old Jarred knew Asthma’s empty.
Right now you’re pretending, because somewhere along the line you got guilty. I’ not worried about you, though. I tried for you. Asthma’s attack will rip you, I’ll be there with the stitches, and you’ll remember. You’ll get it.
Until then…this is a real farewell to the fakest version of you yet.
You are relentless trying to fool with me. It doesn’t matter. You had run out of blows when you mentioned my unborn child. Taunting me with the former love of my life was only for your pleasure.
You’re right, Jared. Don’t get too smug yet, read the rest of the letter.
You’re right; we are alike in a lot of ways.
- Food-driven animal
- Emotional addict
You’re still wrong to think I hate myself for who I am. Unlike you I’ve grown through my pain far enough to accept myself. You pretend to cherish all of our ugly moments as the highlights of our brotherhood. Feeding on your own misery is a suicide recipe. I finally left the kitchen.
Whatever you want, Jared…I don’t have it. Libby didn’t have it either.
I don’t want to hurt like you or suffer like her. Be a hero for yourself, Jared. Please set yourself free.
My Dearest Brother,
Expect to watch me die. I know from being alive that you won’t give me the dignity of even opening my suicide letter. Forget my…
desperation for love
…appreciation for dust and ashes
…predation for whatever breathes. You’ll see prettier things in your dreams. In that blank space there is no day or night, just sweet escape from reality.
Here lies Jarred, the naked mannequin and brother with the saddest story. My feelings are the truth that won’t let you free. I’m tired of Lonely. Please, brother. Share this memory with me.
“Libby. Libby! LIBBY!” She laid cold on the kitchen floor. You pulled her head onto your lap and cradled it. The way your wails reverberated around the room and pulled hot tears down your face didn’t compare to the sweetness I was sucking from my cuticles.
“She’s better now,” I said, but you kept rocking back and forth. I licked my last fingertip. “She was miserable. Now she’s free.” You froze.
“You’re an animal.”
“Aren’t we all,” I asked. Be honest, brother.
You’re just like me.
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?
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.