Dear Jack,
I received a letter from John
and nothing good comes from it.
He says he’s hurt;
the alcohol that formerly caressed
his throat now burns.
He says he’s sad;
the words he writes no longer
belongs to him, they’re
no longer his comfort.
He says he’s blind;
the life he dreamt so much
about is now dark, oblique.
He says he’s fallen;
he wants to die but
he’s too weak to move.
Dear Jack,
I received a letter about John
and nothing good comes from it.
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