Love Letter From Ivan IV

as it goes, ivan the terrible bludgeoned his son, cradling his useless body in the aftermath. you 

can blame it on a conflation of guilt and shell-shock, blame it on mankind’s infamous lack of

control, either way, you took it as a call to action.

the waxing gibbous rolling like a billiard ball, where do we find the guts to forfeit the bets and go

to bed? any good casino knows not to close; a 24/7 paradise of loss somehow seems prettier

than one that has to follow suit with nightfall. 

ivan the terrible bludgeoned his son, i guess the very least anyone could do is hold the other. i

had a dream and i asked to sleep in your bed. you said yes, or perhaps you said nothing at all. i’m

not sure which is worse.

Casey Vieira is an English major in the New England who has been writing for as long as she can remember. Her two focuses include poetry and playwriting, but she has dabbled in narrative writing as well. Outside of writing, she loves dramatic theatre, philosophy, and nature.