Love, I've been trying to smother you with a pillow for the past few months.
I also thought I killed you, but today I don't know anymore, I can't rest my head on the ****** weapon and sleep peacefully.
I'm not a violent person, killing is against my nature and just the attempt is the most painful gesture I have ever made, forgive me, I had to.
Because I am me and unfortunately not someone else, certainly not someone you could want. The difference is that I have to live with myself, without you coexistence is, if not pleasant, at least bearable.
And so I wanted to **** you, as I had already done with my parents. What better way than to leave you with no air and let you squirm under your antithesis, which is not hatred, in fact, but refusing to feel something for fear of feeling anything at all.
I don't know what's going on tonight, you are alive and I can't stand it because I am still me. I wish I could tell myself that I can change and be worthy of you, but I know that it's not true.
I know that when you are here I will still look at you from afar without saying anything, love, because you are beautiful and you don't know it and I think someone should tell you.
But not me, it's not from me that you want to find out and it makes perfectly sense.