Letter to my killer

Here again, speaking with you... and it's September.
Here the two of us.
So many the written sentences to be ashamed of,
in which I can't accept myself.
Your always beeing there almost made me believe
you didn't exist or, at least any longer.
You think I'm only speaking to my own self.
It's logical and seems to be right.
Though for the first time you seem different
maybe you're not afraid of me any longer.
Soon it'll be morning and
I'll hear again these ludicrous birds singing.
Come and sleep with me.
Let's try to rest.
I know you'd laugh, you feel agitated.
You don't believe in sleeping.
What else could I do if not talk to you...
This closeness is very gloomy but sometimes,
it seems to let me breathe.
I can take it for Paradise.
Where is the child...?
Tell me, if you can do so.
Now, someone comes in...