Ein paar Worte.

Gestern war ich 16 und morgen bin ich tot. Und die meiste Zeit dazwischen ein kompletter Idiot.

Go ahead and think of him, say his name. Say it out loud and don't let him prison your thoughts. He's just a boy and you're so much more than walking history. Cry if you want to. Stay awake until 5 am. But remember to go to sleep with an undefeated mind. In the morning you will wake up and everything will be fine again. Maybe not in the morning. Maybe in two weeks, months... You'll walk out of it stronger than ever before.

You terrify me, we’ve still not kissed and yet I’ve cried. You got too close and I pushed and pushed hoping you’d bite; so I could run, run and that I did but through the dust you saw those teeth marks, they weren’t all yours you had been thrust into a history, that had not worked for me; into a history, from which I could not flee.

Oh, It’s in my roots, in my veins. It’s in my blood and I stain every heart that I use to heal the pain.

I am, I guess, depressed. I guess I’ve been depressed for about twenty-four years. I can feel a better version of me somewhere in there - hidden behind a liver oder attached to a bit of spleen within my stunted, childish body - a Me that’s telling me to get up, do something, grow up, move on. But the meanness usually wins out.

We know God is dead, they told us. But listening to you I wasn’t sure.

Sometimes I think I have felt everything I’m ever gonna feel. And from here on out, I’m not gonna feel anything new. Just lesser versions of what I’ve already felt.

Wir brauchen nichts mehr. Nur mehr Drogen.

Lass uns die Wolke Vier bitte nie mehr verlassen, weil wir auf Wolke Sieben viel zu viel verpassen. Ich war da schon ein Mal, bin zu tief gefallen. Lieber Wolke Vier mit dir als unten wieder ganz allein.

I’ve made mistakes but I believe that everything was worth the fight. Because in the end, the road is long but only because it makes you strong. It’s filled with peaks and twists and turns, sometimes you have to learn forget about it.