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.