The picture is me and you under the blankets

I don’t wanna.
I fear the Death.
[Why don't better words came to me?]
Define this sensation, it’s hard.
What? Defining it or the sensation itself?
Both.
So is this a dialogue now?
Between me and who?
Maybe me it’s enough.
So let’s make a toast,
without laugh.
[Is it blood what I just coughed?]
I don’t wanna live anymore.
The fear of the Death…
That’s crap.
But you know that,
don’t ya?

Seems to be rainy, the damn…
The bloody
rainy
Death.