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…