Maybe my last letter to you Which I write with my head crushed There are many things I think about All with the same base, negativity People who think they know me People who think that they can control my life Why does no one see, how I feel? They make me sad, on purpose? They’re talking to me They think they reach me But always the same subject, the same words Making me hating them, for the moment Does no one understand That, what they think is helping me Makes me wanting to leave this life Without suicide, or dying They think they need to help me But taking the wrong thing to help me with Not seeing what I really need Thinking they understand, but they don’t Help me if you can Don’t try to help me if you can’t Today I won’t say goodbye Time will tell, when I do

zahida