I dip the tip of quill deep in my hearts inkpot and cross my name with blood out the record I got. My name will not be found in the book of passion. I wish I could erase my desires madness. But how forget the past if remaining sadness still painful hurts my soul? Rainbows turn to ashen. The open gates to dreams tempting and forbidden are with repentance closed. I will keep them hidden, ask pardon for my flaw, fighting my dispassion.