Before You Slip Into Unconsciousness

Deep beneath the scream the rush of basso profundo sub-sonics the true voice of fear heavy & cloying as a smell electrifying each gonadal hair. The hairs in secret somatic sensualism mimic a gentle gloved hand & stroke to ultimate tumescence like no human hand can do. The play of light & shadow on the slowly pooling blood paints the most intense masterpiece in strokes of black & red. Deep beneath the harvest moon knife shadows rise & fall. The head upturns toward the skies. The mighty mane blows in the wind. A hellhound howl parts crimson lips; the prey is conquered & lifeforce slakes a burning thirst, intoxicates as finest Bourbon & fires the depths of these immortal veins like no spring wine can do. The reflection from the surface of the mirror pool of blood catches the face of an angel seen in the eyes of a darker god. NØ