Brush your hair. Scrub your skin. Pour something to blow the cobwebs away and see stuff that isn’t there. Wish someone wanted you. Wish that they needed you as much as you needed them. Hide away. Avoid others. Cry some tears but don’t let anyone see, because to see you like that makes you weak. But baby you gotta know that like that, no one else comes close. You’re as pure as snow and as dangerous as the written word. So stay that way. Be a wound. Be a kiss. Be the steps you need to take to taste bliss. Wreck havoc. Wreck yourself. Look inwards and know what you are. And then, and then paint pictures and write poems about what it is to be your own enemy and saviour in the same sweet and desperate breath. Cut yourself off. Cut yourself. Open doors and step outside. Step inside. Cast yourself away and when you’re at the point of no return, touch yourself and laugh. Squeeze your eyes shut and yell until your lungs collapse. Laugh because if you don’t they’ll be a day when you’ll burst like a balloon. A shiny red balloon bouncing down some road you wish you could walk again. But you can’t, can you? You can’t go back and it hurts. It hurts for everyone, and it hurts for you. It hurts so much that there are times when all you can do is lie in bed counting the hours away as if they were passing clouds. But then from despair comes elevation. From the depths of the ocean, you are your own light. You always have been. The light that destroys, and the light that heals. The light that guides, and the light that blinds. Use it to blind those that stand in your way. Set them on fire. Set the world on fire, and then link your fingers with mine. From way up high, we’ll watch it burn, and when we gaze into each other’s eyes, we won’t regret a single, fucking thing.