There’s a devil on my shoulder whispering stuff into my
ears, which my traitorous senses eagerly acknowledge. The notes he
strikes are clear, drawing images on my skin that reaches out in response as my
instincts hone in on the object he has chosen as my prize.
In the abject world that pronounces it wrong to fly with
your impulses, immerse yourself, deep and long into the heat that blazes
inside, lick the flames of your wild and unbridled hunger high into the night
and only turn back once you have slaked the thirst that can consume you, if
you disregard its whisper for too long.