#its+raw

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽⚸☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You hold your mask of animal bones to hide your anguish.

The skull of a goat, of ram, the flexible spiny porcelain of the serpent coiled around your hip.

As we all do.

Deep down under pulse aloud while the drums beat, the faithful dance upon the moon. Flowy fabrics in luxurious ink float among the witching hour as they bare nude for your dying grace in motion, pausing in moments like strobes as smoke engulfs your innards.

Face forward the trails as they paved your judgment with sacrilegious mercy. To go against the hypocrisy of word of man is to be rung by the neck and hung from the gallows.

Tonight to dine with woman of Hell shall be blessed in vermillion.

Feast of fiend.