"If you saved any of those photos of me, delete them before you die." I almost said, but that would set it in stone.
Bitter, but at least I still have a sense of humour,
or perhaps pity for myself. Either way, inappropriate, insensitive.
You're the one struggling.  
Not me, not my fight.
Referring to everything as a battle is sort of overused. Why not a tournament?
A championship?
I've never heard anyone talk about
their mental health scrimmage.
Use your vocabulary while you still can.
I ruined three letters already,
tears pooling to blur the ink of a crudely drawn ****.  
Maybe humour will keep you alive; I think not
I don't want this irrevocable.
Bad nights are one thing, but I'm decaying, dissolving in time with you.
Counting the days by phrases is simple.
I'm sorry
I just want this to be over
And to think I woke up happy
This is right
This is wrong
Happiness is in the small things
My head hurts
I'm sorry to cause you pain