Maybe I am going to die soon.
Everything turned so cold that I can't stand it.
I scream into the void, pathetic and alone.
Nobody can hear me.
Nobody, no God can save me.
One of these days I'll try to kill myself again.
That time it will be the last time.
I made my projects yet. My irritated husband put me some pills into the little box of the meds, every day. Just ten pills (or something). In the lass of time of a month they'll be three hundred or more.
It'll be the last time -- I promise.
So, since I am going to die, I have got nothing to lose, I write to you.
I always thought you were funny and that your eyes were good.
I might be wrong. Who cares? Let them laugh. I'm leaving soon.
I have been nothing for anybody in the world.
In my most reckless dreams, I dreamed we could share a whole world. A world utterly ours.
I have got "dreams to remember"... with you.