It's so cold and desperate and in the springtime I can't help but think of winter.

Where my whispers turn to screams and I feel like I am drowning in it's greys and reds.

I wake up to find motivation and sight with clarity.

Reborn constantly, like the birds fly south.

Frequent and rapid at a natural pace; unnatural beauty.

Swallowed by fate and soaked in hope.

Reborn and soaked in hope.