Desire is tingling at the back of my throat.
It's sort of like that serene, gentle pain that lingers in your voice
When you finish screaming.

It's like a ripping. In lots of different directions.

One more attempted blog post tonight. One more failed jumble of awkward sentences.
It's not really writer's block, I just don't feel the same desire anymore. Just need someone new to write for I guess.
And until they come?
Hmmm.

It's an interesting feeling, being able to look the manifestation of my sin straight in the eye. I wonder sometimes if I'd do it the same way twice, ignoring, of course, all the times where I did do it the same way twice. Or three times. Or thirteen. Like all things, it's just a matter of time before I get used to it.