I can't bear this pain which procures me so much bliss, it penetrates inside my skin, pouring and spreading. I'm hot, I'm cold, I feel ten feet tall, I feel six feet under. An inconstant substance is going through the ramparts of my body in order to meddle at the heart of my soul, at the heart of my sorrows. I never feel so lucid that when I am alone in my room, the needle in hand, the opium's juice into my veins. I decide to write, and the pen as a continuity of my arms is pouring its injection on the paper, and then I have an uncontrollable fit of laughter. I would never be able to write something that beautiful in an other state of consciousness. However, my euphoria is dying as I seen that this pretty text will join the pile of my several suicide letters. I am a coward, I am brave, I want to live, I want to die, I know what I want, I am undecided. I think so I live. I live so I think. I forgot my first injection, I forgot about yesterday, I forgot her curly hair, her angelic smile and her green complex and yet so simple eyes, her fragile body that dissimulates so much strenght. No, I remind it so well. By her side,my soul was filled with joy and gratitude, to the point that she dispelled all my life's misfortune, she is an inconstant girl going through the ramparts of my body in order to meddle at the heart of my soul, at the heart of my sorrows. But she occupied the arms of another. And then the drugs' effects are fading, I recall once again the night of my first shot, the night I let an other kind of heroine taking her place. I depress the plunger, I'm hot, I'm cold, so cold, I do not feel anything. I still love you.
