Dear Evan Dixon

I had a nice time today

I went to my sisters party

She wants to be on broadway

I had a cupcake

Dear Evan Dixon,

I’ve been think of what you said

You’re wrong you know,

It wasn’t too much

I don’t have to watch what I eat

Dear Evan Dixon,

I can’t get it out of my head,

Maybe I was wrong?

Should I really trust your advice?

Dear Evan Dixon,

I know i sounded unsure

Im so hungry right now

I’ll try to fight it off

Im not sure how long I’ll last

Dear Evan Dixon,

You said you could help me

Make me the guy of my dreams

Im getting scared now, this doesn’t seem healthy

My vision is blurry and I’m nauseous when I eat

Is this wrong? It doesn’t seem right to me

Dear Evan Dixon,

I keep passing out

Is that normal?

I want to be pretty, but this just seems wrong.

Dear Evan Dixon,

You’re right I’m too close to my goal

Its only for a few more weeks

Im already starting to see it

It makes me so happy

Dear Even Dixon,

I think my parents have caught on

My mom looks at me with worry

And my dad keeps buying my snacks

Its getting harder to hide

Dear Evan Dixon,

I’m here

I did it

Are you proud?

Dear writer,

You haven’t wrote to me in a while

I was getting worried

That is, until i saw you on tv

Im so proud of you

You reached 70

If only you could have survived

Yours truly, —E.D.

Do not foretell death as the villain of this story. For the lies we tell, and the hatred we give are the monsters that dictate our mournful tale. Our deceitful actions, paired with our sinful way are demons fanning the flames of our combusting society. We ourselves are building the walls of our cells, yet we continue to blame others out of mistrust. We watch as our world burns and refuse to take blame. Perhaps we are scared of the justices that will fall upon us in our final moments. Terrified that our choices will damn us for eternity. So in turn we blame each other, we blame death, even our gods. For what is assigning blame except being to afraid accept fault? What is hatred other than finding fear in the flaws we ourselves hold? What is crime other than a damning release of emotions to paralyzing to work through? How do we, as human as we are, ascend to the holiness they expect. When we are just mere children in their eyes? I fear that if I find the answers to the questions that plague my mind, that I might also find the answers to the questions I dare not ask. The questions that crawl up my spine and whisper in my ears. The questions from death himself. The questions that leave holes in my chest and gaps in my memory. Questions that could bring repercussions that would shatter the specks of peace our gods has granted. Questions with answers so deadly, I fear the end of me as they form in my mind