It's a weird time. I crave the darkness, the downward spiral, a husky voice screaming silently in the night full of bones and decay, the smell of flesh stripped naked, fear and lust combined to synthesize something more than either. I need it like a junkie needs a fix.
I don't have it. I sniff around it like a dog on the other side of the fence, but I haven't touched it yet. I want to roll around in it, infuse its scent into my skin, taste its tang on the sharp edges of my memory.