There is fulfilment within the emptiness of a generational façade, where flat keys depict a winter scene, upon which sleep is characterised by haunting screams of enragement.
Stringed instruments have the power to convey a deep sense of loss, and I have not yet gone anywhere.
Forgive me for asking: Are you a victim of secrecy, where illicit fornications abound beyond the parameters of Ashtoreth?
I accept the resolution of this enigma, whilst standing on the inside of the circle.
It truly is an artistic prowess of elegant hatred.

In our mythological mechanism of the senses, let us reach beyond the guardians of the night.
Teach me your wisdom oh spirit of paraphiliac and psychopathic depravity, and help me to differentiate between those various entities.
Oh, reptilian god of majnu, I can feel the enveloping uncertainty of your sensual and dark licentiousness.
Your Goetic sexuality is ceremonially bewitching, whilst the season of darkness lingers before us.
I embrace your possession of madness.

Wisdom of an Aged Ally

Carry my archaeological parchment around this historical site of future predictions, where the
tombs of Anubis are a scent of confusion amidst this welcomed display of harlotry.
Blues music may be ******, as she communicates her utmost intensities with sensual hatred.
However, I have driven through canyons of ****** and violent fantasy, where the abyss is shallow and neighbourly death is sold to huntsmen who are vagrants upon the rail-road tracks of collusion.
Just think about that for a second.
Who are the hunters among us in this echoing swampland of sophistication?

Mirrors are a powerful medium for returning energy, just like a medieval message in a bottle.
Wrap me in your desolate womb, oh barren mistress of death.
Do you really need to be sworn in?
Sky above and earth below, feel my raging aphrodisiac amidst this eclipse of tantric rites.
***** my horoscope in this zodiac, and grow beyond this medieval heresy.
Magick is the science or art of effecting change by the conformity of the will; and you are a sacred star in the night sky.
Let us scribe incantations beyond desert horizons where Kali displays her direction of seasons.
Spring is in the East, Summer is in the South, Autumn is in the West and Winter is in the North.

It is an ancient tradition, and we cannot pull the cosmos apart.
Nightfall is upon us, and the spirits dance with sensual provocation.
Thank you for the scattering of seed, oh mistress of water, air, wind and fire.
Grant us inner insight and carry our prayers to the Goddess at each quarter of this explicit circle.
I am inspired by the elements.
But, please do not allow the gallows to prevail, because I am innocent.
Can we meet at dawn?

The wheat harvest is Magickal, and you have always invited me into your damp crypt.
Apples are ripe when Demeter searches for her lost offspring, amidst shades of nocturnal eroticism.
Therefore, let us now bake bread with feminine or masculine features in the name of Southern rhythms where the hunt takes place upon acreage of the aristocracy.
Do you have any regrets or farewells in this season?
Let it flow like a bubbling brook through woodlands of this recollected netherworld.

My silence echoes across the chasms of Hades, where rabid entities claw at my soul with eyes like splintered rocks and a presence of tangible blackness.
Deafening is this sight of transformation, and I am unable to resist the aroma of tactile experience.
Unfortunately, I am ignorant as I have never metamorphosed nor spread my wings from the shell of the cocoon.
However, madness of the central nervous system is a condition which can result in hydrophobia, especially where sacramental water is concerned.
Therefore, how relative is time in this black hole of confirmed epistemological doubt?