I'm writing again.

My dreams of passion's burning flare
Have slumbered long within my chest
Awakened now by foolish games
This madness will not let me rest

My hands can feel the aching beat
That dries my lifeforce through my limbs
I open up my heart to greet
The dangers of my ancient whims

A dance, a dream, a fleeting sprite
The splinters of a lover's kiss
Alive to give my fingers light
My sould I never knew I'd miss

--Rebirth

I'm writing again; for the first time in almost a year, my red book has a new entry. Or, well, I'm metawriting, writing about how I'm writing again. A self-fulfilling prophecy or something or else. But that's not the point.

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