I care about you as people, and I believe you are capable of great things. Each of you will contribute something to this world. You are important. You would be missed.

It's 4am again and I'm just getting started. People are boring and I want to burn with excitement or anger and bleed, bleed through my words. I want to get all fucked up and write real and raw and ugly and beautifully. I bet you're sleeping safe and calm, and you can stay there, it's safer there, and you wouldn't stand one night on this journey my mind wanders off to every night you close your eyes. I'll stay here one day and I will never come down. I promise I can fly before I hit the ground. It doesn't even hurt anymore. I swear, it doesn't hurt.

The good news is you survived. The bad news is you're hurt and no one can heal you but yourself.

I think you've got to get out whatever's hurting you through your art, so it doesn't twist you up inside.

I know you're upset, I know you're scared, but don't walk away.

Honestly, Bob: how do you carve a scream?

You don't deserve the anger you're turning on yourself. Your abuser's the one who does.