A dying child's soul

a letter written by a dying kid


I lost everything; everyone gave up on me. no one talks to me. no one calls me. no one ever says I love you first. no one ever tells me good job. no one will give me their time. no one. and that's my life, and the reason I'm dying.

I'd tell you I love you, and that I'm sorry, but I don't have anyone to tell.

I always say I love you even when I already said it and I'm not sure whether to say it again or not, every time, just because that's me,
I say thank you too much, I lack common sense but believe it or not I'm not stupid, I slur my words, I'm not much of a conversation, I'm a sarcastic asshole because it warms my heart when someone is comfortable enough in your company to say I hate you and hear I love you, I'm childish, I hardly act my age half the time and the other half I'm a sage of magical wisdom so hate me I'm a fucking asshole with an inflated ego I couldn't care less because I'm dead now. did you get your point across? did ignoring the squeaky nail work out?