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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
P. S. My lungs don’t ache today.