To the evening cast the twilight sky, morbid minds of humanitzed husk that cast away morality for a happier life slowly wake inside. Turmoil of sins and saints have begun to spark into the sky as stars. We never seem to allocate to the darkness respect, but feed it the carnal desires we hide behind the eyes. The last vail of personal perquisite is the fabric of mist that is the fear of the dark. To some this is more then the means to entice silence in the mouth of depravity, however, to the many we harbor lustfully on the edge of the twilight to let our manifestations of pleasure become a carnal reality.

Many face the silken absence of light through the divine, though with the gratuity of naked pride. Both bound in the single obsession of self and migratory saintly desires. How are we so begone to humanity that divinity is sold in processed Internum for the masses to pass over to the table top or the end table so that others see devotion in each others house hold. Neatly in the drawer under the unscored testate of sacrament, the secrets of sin and debauchery hide so carelessly, that or so the conscious of the harbor man, is testing the resolve of others to maintain decorum or if the sins run in more then just that houses walls.

Is it but the mention of humanity that we are bound to call out some befuddled skin of a human claiming to have great wisdom, class and doctoral of the words spoken makes him either, martyr, sacrifice, saintly and devout. Though truly just the words understood by the many will mute the few who speak in question and wonder of such babblings. Are we just that far from isolation from grandeur and devotion, to the black skies of starless nights are our eyes, when mortem and divinity is bound in the darkness.

Walking through the depressed sounds of a forest tormented by the moans of a nights prowl, skin becomes fevered with goosebumps, a primal notion of protection, not relegated to being cold as the days of mercantile has brought us. To feel carnal, devoted minds who wish to prowl into the graves of the weak, bones and carcass never given grace of burial. They lay upon the ground, steaming from the life and warmth once saved for a child now escapes into the thirsty veil, never to be satiated by the means of flesh, only to the means taking life and basking in the eyes frozen in fear left for the ones who seen monstrous death, of others or the pain of evisceration of ones own being. Quick death is never given as the last pump of the heart is to be felt by the one who took this pray.

Flesh to steel, Mind to Carnal fear, Thirst to divulgence, Life to death. All things fell onto the veil for us to feed in, to become a beast with two backs, to mold the very tears of a childless mother into the pleasures of a divine sacrifice. We are not ones of light or ones of the moral, we are ones of the darkness, the veil still coats our back as we hold false light of innovation to give us safety.

Innovations will fail, human hearts will give power to great devotion, devotions become bound to human frailty, human frailty leads to seeking others, seeking others means we increase the size of the vail behind you.

Always remember you will never see another ones vail, not until the darkness of their vail, becomes the innovation of your fall.

Much love and fear not your own being, but the being hidden behind husk of lies and false divinity.

Your Friendly Ginger From The Woods.