dear jim, hope u get this tumblr post, which is a modern nephew to a wet note in a coke bottle, and no, not that kinda coke, jim. times have changed & now “I do cocaine” is a metaphor for im a crackhead- hear my pipe roar, jim, ur probably wondering what brings about this letter, and honestly, while I have u, I do wish u could make it better down here, and I dont just mean a reduction in the price of beer, u see, I think u know this already, but I believe I was made in ur image, eh, this us awkward typing it to u, and I hope u have hi-speed wireless, by the way, up there, but u see ive been needing a sign, and quite frankly when none arrived, I quit believing in u, I mean u could have emailed me back, I mean, I DON’T believe in you, jim, not anymore, I want to, so anyway, I open my tumblr, (I’ll explain that to u later, just remind me) and ur contemporary is saying she knows who killed u, and I wanted to go directly to u with this, u wouldn’t believe how rampantly reckless gossip has gotten, jim, anyway, im just gonna ask it: somebody killed u, jim? u can tell me the truth, im pretty strong, I can bear to hear it. and well, if u met this guy named tupac, and chances are very high uve met, I wouldnt mind knowing who killed him too, just in case ur bros, which is just short for brothers, cuz we have gotten lazy, hehe, nobody even writes poetry any more, except those laureates, which are those snotty college clans that were around in ur day, like the illuminati, ocatavio paz was one, he was Mexican tho, so I doubt he went to college and was probably grandfathered in, we can talk about that one later, too. well, I, need to hear from u, ive been a faithful fan, wearing ur tshirt and all, but im starting to not believe. where r u jim, heaven or hell, with saints or the sinners, or r u under the devils spell, or r u sitting outside the pearly gates in a thorny crown, u just keep letting this human down and I just have to say there’s just one thing I dont believe in any more n,thats u, dear jim. I dont believe in u. so hit me up on facebook or check out my pinterest or twitter, but I dont have instagram, fyi. they said fyi in your day, right? for your information. google the urban dictionary if u dont understand anything in this post. k, I think about u a lot. I love u jim, take care. muahs. this is like a rook, btw (by the way). get it?? k, bye
i know we look alike, but my hair is a rustier pipe red and i have more fluff then sense,but she has more volume than depth and we all can see with the eyes we’ve been given that i can carry an origami reptile scale better than her, that’s where the fork was stuck in us. she’s prob wanting to go to the er to get her disappointment checked, and in so many ways i dont blame her…
To your already effed up hair.
A good bird resides in the pink cave of your lung and his commonalities with you are that you both picture yourselves diving off the cool side of a sea frozen to resemble a parisian diamond. You hold his canary yellow stick hand and gently guide him to the rim, assuringly and offhandedly. A green moss wind butters the nudge, and the little bird friend goes away, tufts of sputtering illegible words written by clouds are all the things anyone says. A goodbye unbought, uncaught in a throat, unapologetic, misgiving-less about what never was wrote, as if it were ages when smoke mailed the message and presently neither of you had anything to toke, let alone a box or a red metal flag to alert anyone of your arriva derci note