Sunday, 18 June 2017

Letters To Myself

You wake up and tell yourself that today is going to be better but then the postman delivers you a letter in between you trying to work out if you've got a hard-on for Aldous Harding or Tonetta. It reads: "Dear James, Did you manage to forget her? Are you starting to feel better? I guess now you haven't and you're not but be grateful I sent you a letter and not a shit-smeared sweater. I haven't written to you with a vendetta. I just want you to understand that you don't deserve any pleasure. You deserve to be miserable forever. Or at least until you fall off the end of your tether. I think you get the message so Fuck You etc etc."

No comments:

Post a Comment