You have no idea what it__ like, knowing you__e going to die in an hour. Sixty short minutes are now the only things that separate you from the other side. From the country undiscovered by the living. From that inevitable end we all must face. Guess that__ what the whole death row thing is about, though. If you ask me now if I feel sorry for what I__e done, I__ have to tell you plainly the answer is no. I__ do it all again, given the opportunity. I__ kill them all. Over, and over, and over. The court-appointed psychiatrist described me as having a __evere antisocial personality disorder with excessive violent tendencies._ But I__ letting you know now I never stood out in a crowd. Never drew attention to myself. I was just a regular woman, one you__ see in the convenience store, and smile at politely. Who would have ever suspected what I was capable of? All those people. Those useless, useless people. I gave them a use. I was an artist. And my canvas of choice was the clean human skull.

And me, standing under the splintered night, catching fractured glimpses into the black behind the black, hearing the prayers of stars, the angry whispers of the dark summer night.Its voice cracks,on your name.My eyes close,on your name.

If you stand right at the edge of the night sky, some place where one o__lock leaves to meet two, the breeze will carry your words up to the stars. And they__l swallow your secrets until its time to hand them over to the truths in the sky- the ones that draw maps in the black. They carve their answers into the backs of my hands, the grooves of the words running deep in my palms.

His calm and gentle tone was like an anchor in a ferocious sea, keeping me from drifting into a current of heartache.

_she had nothing to do but to forgive herself and be happier than ever_

Capture your youth, while you can.