(no subject)

[diabound]

I burned all of my old logs before I left Egypt. The papyrus smelled like the blood I wrote with, so I always left it in the village. Isn't it ironic? My people, the logs, nothing stays in the fucking past. Fire just gives it life.

I'm still writing the same way. It's an addiction.

I haven't seen the ghosts yet. They'll find me soon.

I won't sleep tonight.