I find the need to write again... not just write but put pen to paper once more in regards to topics my hands and mind have been insanely and with much tedious perfection so heavily trying to avoid. It's been quietly there however, hiding in shadows as usual... the thirst for blood... the desire for the hunt... the thrill of piercing eyes in quiet realization that they have become,,, prey.
Yes that ever growing need to feed becomes deafening and almost paralyzing.
Retreat I quickly before hunger overtakes me and I am no longer in control of my actions. Without my sweet inspiration and the hand of he whom carries my silent cold heart, I have found myself so far past the point of emptiness, I cannot distinguish between the need and the misery. I find I'm withdrawn to sleep and dreams of centuries of immortality that seems to become more and more of a curse than a gift as the days pass that I am without my love.... and without that crimsoned release... but I must have both or have neither.
I feel my wings are broken... My only desire is to fade away in quiet slumber and lose myself someplace in time and hope he someday finds me once more.