Bottled Letter #1

Dear Rex,

Listen: Thou art king, but squalloring – victim of nimbus majesties beyond a weak, unfeted grip. Look you — into the dark, that man runs just as ink betwixt this letter and another. A sacrifice of documents, the blue running down crevices where red is, tied to a gnarly post, all wood and brewhaha and oak (yes, wood). Have you let read my other letter? The one which is a drawing of a castle made of bats – like all are, at night, when cars do not drive by. Look you — into the dark, into the below.

I read a poem the other day, about Ludwig van Beethoven — though I admit, it was through tears. My stomach lurches in the gloom, and my vision is faint. I cry when I sleep & doubly when I dream, which is unoften. You know to what I am referring. I sang a song the other day, but all my jailers ran to me and stabbed me with pitchforks until my melody was disrupted. Hearty men. And this is not a torture really — not so much as sea is, seen fopping up against the sand, bright blue and twinkling. I stick out my tongue a tiny bit and press it to the gate — ivory kisses back, you know it. Rex I-

I fear the drowning that is to come. Not so much the process of it, but rather the injustice, the pain. Knowing water will not fill your lungs but longs for me, longs to dig and dive into my chest like the salt which governs time. Think of these words, this generous pen — all gone, and not safe from anything. I know it comes anyway, but God – why underwater, where I never lived? Even this tower — a better world waits, I know, but even this tower is so juicy juicy yumyum here tonight. I would sit here forever sprawled like God, and die unnoticed, without so much a squirm of passion, and my body would be found beaming. Think a little on this. You have a merciful soul, and need the exercise. Rex I am frightened, like I am not of scoliosis or paraplegia. Of feeling the sun probing through the water — of the top of my head being warm, and lending itself to thoughts of sunny fields and beaches walked without a thought, for years. The humanity! of soft, lapping water kissing my feet, and how unafraid the whole world was of my soft arms soaking in the air.

I fear seeing a fish floating by, and knowing he will think nothing of me. Even worse — the thought of him trying to game, darting to and fro before my panicked eyed, believing we will both live forever. Why need you give me such a window? A window to the sea? What did I ever do to you, quite so horrible, quite so real? It has felt — that every moment between us has been only floating words and rye beer until this. What spurs you to the elsewhere? Is it, too, fear of dying here — a love of drums and outliving friends?

I do believe unironically in the Catholic God, and I wish to be saved, and I believe I may be saved. But He works through others, and I rely on Him to work through you. If you let me leave unharmed you will never hear from me again. On Judgement Day I will kiss your forehead and offer my blessings from behind thick sunglasses. Or, if this is too much to ask, then as they drag me to the beach let me stop for a minute or so by some flowers, even flowers in a vase, and smell them and carry them with me at least unto the shore.

With God,
[The name is obscured.]

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