Dear Friend,
I'm writing to you for the sole purpose that I can't remember any one else. As a matter of fact, I think you're the only one who keeps at least one memory of my former self.
I sincerely hope that you'll have the patience to go through this description of my nightmares and ghosts and, if it's not too much, rid me of them.
I can't recall the place where we've first met, or what was the first we've said to each other. In spite of this, I'm sure you're my closest friend, my only existing friend. There may have been more, but they died along with my ideals, expectations and connection with your world, or, to be more precise, my former world. The fact that your image survived clear and unharmed to such a strong rupture makes me believe that you are the only true one.
Now I'm locked here, in the company of my thoughts, company which is the most unpleasant and the least useful.
I've been abandoned here, in the refuge of my tranquil insanity. The walls have the tendency of closing in once in awhile, just like the doors of a broken elevator. My eyes start to see the image of a strange contraption conceived by my own decaying mind. My heart, just like an old pocket watch, ticks slowly, then it stops, only to start beating again after receiving a slight hit. I am unable of seeing what it is. I'm unable of seeing what it's not as well. I can only see and accept a version of truth that my brain thinks is good for me, regardless of my will. My hands don't touch me. They touch the carcass of some one else, because I'm still alive, even tough it's not obvious.
My screaming is silent. Sound is useless they say. But I think it's a hypocrisy to say with words that silence is more expressive than sound. Just because I'm so convinced of my beliefs , I will show you what I mean by shutting up...For now...