I was born from them,
gifted by them,
wanted by them,
and trashed by them.
Love is an affair.
Nothing is real.
Affection is one of the misunderstood feelings, one of the things my heart cannot reach.
"Run away, if it's not for yourself, then for me."
Mother, Father, Sister (?), long-gone people I loved,
all of the songs I sing, all of the notes I write, I always hope they'd be the last.
Yes, I'm a suicidal thinker.
A suicidal note, then two, then three,
then infinity.
...Living is tiring.
It's too much work.
Knowing that people lie constantly,
that they befriend each other because they're interested, and that I'm nothing but another bare "human being", even with this mental sickness of mine.
Living is hard, so tiring.
Breathing is pointless, meaningless.
I'd let you know,
but if you're reading this, that means..
That might mean I'm pretty much out of your reach, right?
Although, even now...
Please.
Please, tell everyone I'm sorry.
Specially to him.
Hey.
If perhaps you someday read this.
It's not your fault.
And, thank you.
I hope to someday meet with you...
Even if it's up there in heaven, though I might not deserve it www
To you, Good Night.
I hope you sweet dreams...
