I feel I am alive, still. My requests to talk with my family are in vain. I am being forced to make attachments in Here. My itching is getting bad. What could be my great sin to deserve all this? The medicines they are giving me are making me even more sick. Should I conclude that I am abandoned forcibly? Then, tell me that.
The silence of fake words is silencing my life and soul. Should I play cards and become a gambler? Should I start eating the stuff others are eating? I smoke and I smoke a lot. I can’t control it. I ask for more smokes from others. I beg for smokes. Soon, I might turn unconscious and would not wake up.
Will my family accept that? They could not. I listen to them. I follow their words, but my life is in their hands and they have put it in the hands of imposters. When will I see the outside sun again? If die, the blame is on the people who could not help me. I asked for help not for the abandonment. I want to be with you, dear.
Do you think about me to call to yourself? The ownership has been abused and I am that beast, who is just dying inside in the each fraction of time. Perfection’s only demand is the sole creator of it. I don’t need the perfect. I need the one side. Give me black or white not the grey.
It’s getting hard for me to write. I am wishing the one sister should converse now. What if there is no need of me in my family. I might have done something. I miss you more. I feel hatred.