I don't need any deceiving eyes or fake smiles.

I don't need your gossip about me to my relatives.

I don't need you throwing insults at me and telling me that you hate me like hell.

But I do need you for something.

I need you to die a humiliating and horribly painful and ugly death.

--

I don't hope much.

I don't believe in hope.

But I'll believe in hope just this once.

I hope I'll be the one to point and laugh when your downfall finally comes.

--

I dream a lot.

I love dreams.

They are like drugs, I get all euphoric and high when I dream.

I also fly when I dream.

And I was on cloud nine when I dreamed that you were shot point-blank.

--

I wonder too.

I wonder about the mysteries of the Earth, about my family tree, about life and death.

I also wonder why you can't just buzz off and leave me alone.

--

I am stubborn. I am demanding.

When I want something, I will try my best to get it.

I want you to get out of my life.

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Sometimes, I like to stand on the blue stool in my room, open the windows wide, spread my arms and close my arms.

It's the mental illness again, I know, but that's how I deal with stuff.

On days, I wish I could just sit on the window sill and fall.

Fly. Like in my dreams.