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.
To My Truest Self,
We did well. Asthma has her sweet relief, when the warmth pulses on us. A warmth so hot it chokes the burn in my chest and numbs my emotions.
“Show me where you want it,” the whisper tickled my cheek. My finger traced along her jaw and across her collarbone. Each button fell apart at every press until the fabric slid off her shoulders. The skin over her rib cage sank deep like lines etched on a wall for the minutes not lived. Scars were painted tallies for attempted escapes.
“I prefer surprises,” I said. Our fingers intertwined then locked as rough and smooth rubbed together. From back to belly and gripping to slamming her nails clawed the paint. My sweat rolled down the nape of her neck. It ran cool on her chest and leaped from her skin upon thrust. We convulsed.
The hot air in her throat turned cold beneath my knuckles. I kept pushing in the cold rawness as she bled on my numbness. I wanted it to hurt but it wouldn’t feel. I sucked her juices from my cuticles but I couldn’t taste. The empty is too deep. Asthma… needs more.
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.
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.