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Write Me a Letter

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  #61  
Old 12-26-2013, 01:06 AM
sdenyer (Offline)
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Default To all my friends who got knocked off.


My dears, my near and far friends who got knocked off because of stupid games people play to amuse themselves. I am so sorry. The world has gotten even more brutal. I am glad you are gone to not see it. I miss you very much.

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  #62  
Old 12-26-2013, 11:55 AM
Burk28 (Offline)
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Default To whom it may concern

I am the past and I am the present. I am the digger of graves and the conveyance to them.
I am the string; connected to the puppets that wield my blows.

I am the thing they call, “Havoc” I am the Blue Monkey.

The key to my cage, that which sets me free is your disinterest, your apathy and hate. My freedom to roam unabated is your ignorance, and retribution’s bloody slate. Man’s violence upon himself is my ignorant inspiration, and I revel in the thought of his de-creation.

I can be found in city and town, in far flung reaches around the world. I can be seen in newscast scenes, I can be found in the eyes of a starving child. My name is celebrated in ball ammo flight, and the pungent aroma of smoke and cordite.

I am the flame set to irreverent crosses; lighting the sky with racist delights, I am the tailor of white sheeted banners so bias. I am the unjustified 13 knots of retribution, fashioned on the hangman’s noose.

I am the thing they call “Havoc” I am the Blue Monkey.

Complacency is my friend, Revenge, my whore. Blood letting my delight, to even senseless scores. My hands are soiled with the lives of many, and I have been given freedoms in place of your outrage. Look around in farm and town, in village and city streets, my presence is everywhere…

Keep sleeping; keep sleeping,
For when you awake, I shall have to go.

I am the vehement articulations of opinion and rhetoric, and in spite of your diatribes,
It is they that give me wing. I am the developer of future battlefields. I was the architect of the Auschwitz oven, the builder of the Berlin wall. I was the sharpened blade of Tutsi, Hutu cleansings. I am the mix master of Jim Jones’s cool aide. I am confusion; I am disassociation, alienation and empty pride.

I am the thing they call “Havoc” I am The Blue Monkey.

You will find me in back alley shooting dens, on skid row’s bleeding pavement.
You will find me in lonely fields and dark forests, within the graves of the murdered unknown. You will see my reflection in broken mirrors, for I celebrate their fall,
And I will revel in the screams of your unheard call.
They call me destruction; I am your neutron bomb. I am the wings of the Enola Gay at thirty thousand feet, reaching out to touch you. With nuclear, holocaust treats.
I am dynamite, TNT, I am the thought imposed in political superiority. I am the IED
On the path of Man’s sacred journey. I am travail and tribulation.

I am the thing they call “Havoc” I am the Blue Monkey.

I am the summation of all your perceived wrongs, and yet you tarry about,
Clanging self-righteous gongs,
You see, but you are blind, you listen but do not hear. Instead you wallow in the pits of self loathing and determinate fear. And in that fear, it becomes quite clear that indeed your hearts are closed, for to open them wide would cause your heart to collide with the awful truth about me.

Yes, keep sleeping; and sleep well,
For when you awake, I shall have to go.

For I am the thing they call “Havoc” I am the Blue Monkey…
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  #63  
Old 01-03-2014, 08:38 AM
lewislewis (Offline)
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Default To Nelly (concerning the man who was killed by the trash compactor today)

Dear Nelly,

The trash compactor killed a man today.

He was new on the job. His name was Ralph Benedict. Ugly and odd name but he apparently came from English royalty. Don't know why he became a New Orleans trashman. He had a peculiar way of talking, kinda what you'd expect. Stuck up, but he cared a lot about us in the short time he got to know us.

We've been arguing over whether it was an accident or if he meant to throw himself into the compactor. Or if it was murder but that just seems silly because everybody liked him. And none of the guys want to go back to jail and most of us are pretty cleaned up.

This whole thing shook me up, Nelly. I was the one who found his body.

Love you. Miss you. See you soon.

Terry
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  #64  
Old 02-24-2014, 07:57 PM
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Dear Loved Yet Hated Connor,

From the day we met, I knew you were a good guy. You'd help me through some confusing times. Yet the more girls that came through your life, the more I was like. "Hey! I know you better than these girls and yet you don't notice?" But weirdly, and awkwardly we came together in front of my brother who hated you more then anything in the whole world. It was embarrassing with all your friends, but they soon got over the fact. As time went on, I heard rumors you were with another girl. I defended you, but they won out. It was odd to ask, and might ruin what friendship we had left. And then my brother stepped in, I secretly cheered him on. He could do what I couldn't, push you away. I've always been to nice and quiet, but people never see the other side of me that's hidden away from public view. You finally left, I felt relieved. I was free to do what I pleased without worrying about you. Time past and our paths crossed again, but as friends. Your new girlfriend was jealous of me spending so much time with you. We made up sometime later, but I never did see her again, and I was once again to shy to ask what had happened. You finally faded from my life again, for good this time. But you left a mark, one that will never heal. And only you are to blame. I will forever regret not asking, "Did you cheat on me?"

I'll never be free.

Your Alice, Because I never told you my real name~
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Last edited by ChibiEmmy; 02-24-2014 at 07:58 PM.. Reason: Because the Potatoes did it.
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  #65  
Old 04-06-2014, 08:35 AM
writergal (Offline)
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Loving this !!!!!
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  #66  
Old 09-23-2014, 07:03 AM
JMummey (Offline)
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Dear Madge,

How are you sweet face? I miss your laugh. Visit me soon and bring me one of your new babby bunnies, I think I'm ready for some excitement in the house.

I was a selfish coward this week. I avoided the hospital. He doesn't want me there seeing him like that, he is angry and in a lot of pain. I don't want to see him like that. Hell, I never wanted to see him when he wasn't in pain. But come to think of it, he's always been in pain. This time the pain is just something I can see.

He spoke of his mother briefly on my last visit, how she used to hug him each morning. I know he misses her, I think he is hoping to see her when he dies. Doc is saying his liver is failing and there is nothing more she can do.

Tomorrow will be better. I will be stronger. I will go to the hospital and sit with him in his quiet, sterile room. I won't dwell on what we are not.

Love,

Merenna
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  #67  
Old 09-23-2014, 07:07 AM
JMummey (Offline)
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Josie, you letter is hilarious! Thanks for sharing and I will definitely check out your book - I like it already!!
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  #68  
Old 10-11-2014, 11:32 AM
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I have so many letters to write to so many people, yet you are the only one who could ever understand what they really mean. You let them take control, break your heart and shatter your soul. The world has never changed, only your perception of it. You used to smile, please come back.

Dear Me,
Don't lose yourself, keep picking up those pieces. You are worth it.
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My soul is lost in the words I never said, and found in ever word I write.

Last edited by BookWorm; 10-11-2014 at 11:42 AM.. Reason: Needed to rewrite
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  #69  
Old 10-11-2014, 11:35 AM
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Default Thank You

Originally Posted by starpanda View Post
Dear...

Now you see I have come unstuck already. What do I call you after all these years? Do I still call you Dad? Dad_ It just seems a little strange to say it, after all, it conjures up images that are not real to me.

Images of playing in the park, on the slide and on the swings. Of being tucked up in bed, a Cinderella nightlight and stories of Peter Pan. I think of Birthday parties, Christmas and Holidays by the sea. You were never there for me.

I had grandparents and neighbours, I had aunts, uncles and cousins, but for most of my life. I didn't have a dad. I used to have a dad, a long time ago. I have the photographs to prove it. I have vague and blured memories of a picnic, a black suit and ice cream, but very little else. No...I'm sorry I can't call you 'dad'.

On consideration I can't call you 'father' either, I am sad to say. For that too has images that don't fit with well me at all. To say 'father' I think of words like wisdom, kindness and respect. I did not recieve any wisdom from you, I got little in the way kindness and I just don't respect you. Brutal, but true.

How can I respect you? Or have any kind feelings for you, when you left me. You may have had your problems, that I can understand, but I was seven, just a baby...how could you leave me alone.

So how do I address this letter to you. The only way I can_

Dear...John...
This really is so beautiful and I can really relate. It means so much when someone else can express every feeling you ever felt. So, I thank you for that.
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  #70  
Old 10-11-2014, 12:00 PM
BookWorm (Offline)
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Default Lingering Ghosts

Originally Posted by Deadbox View Post
Dear Simone,

How many letters have I written you but never sent? More than I can count.

Young love. That’s one of the many things that come to mind when I think of you.

I have many fond memories of you. Walking you to class in the rain, through the ever-present construction at the university. We sat on the floor outside the room, talking some, kissing some, until your class was over and everyone started to leave. I remember a day by the Coke machine. I bought you a Coke, and you said, “I love you.” Having only recently ended a relationship with a woman who was far too clingy, in far too much of a hurry to become emotionally intimate as well as physically intimate, I said, “I love you, too,” with little enthusiasm.

I wish now that I had taken you into my arms, or at least have had the courage and understanding to look into your eyes and reply with the intensity that I feel today.

Part of me wonders why I bother to write to you twenty years later. What right have I to interfere with the happiness that you have found? That’s why I never came to visit you after you left. What good would it have done? I couldn’t have stayed more than a week. We would have just enough time to renew our feelings for each other, only to re-experience the hell of parting once again. Inevitably, like the boarding call of the flight that took you out of my life, hard circumstances would have forced me to leave.

What can I possibly say now that will make any difference to either of us, our lives being what they are? Only in dreams can we go back to that time, and dreams of what could have been are not enough to satisfy the present. I can only tell you that these things that I have left unsaid I carry with me. They keep me tied to a time that has past, like the restless spirits of the dead continuing to hold on to life though the vessel that carried it is gone.

There is a woman who I used to date, a couple of years before I met you. She left me to marry some other guy but still, even now, sends me a Christmas card each year. I could never figure out why. Then I heard somebody say, “She’s the ghost in his heart,” and it made perfect sense. A person who used to be in your life but now haunts your heart like a restless spirit. I suppose she sends me Christmas cards for the same reason I'm writing to you now.

Maybe it sounds like a bad love song, but it's true. I love you, Simone, and always will because you are the ghost in my heart.

Evan
Thank you for this. He will forever be the ghost in my heart.
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