Close your eyes and imagine her melodic voice and untouched skin and illuminating eyes. Play with her flowing hair that feels so soft not even the best Chinese silk could compare. Now take a blade and slash her wrists and watch her drown in her own blood. Go ahead — You do it anyway each time you pierce a needle through your vein or snort a bump or gulp a swig. The Child of God who lives in you dies each time you act with hate for who you are. So think about her innocent soul and draw yourself out of your drugged-out blur because I beg of you: PLEASE STOP KILLING HER.