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A piece of writing inspired by the feeling described (half-assedly) in the past journal entry. If it scares, you, don't worry, it's done that to someone else allready.

-----Soaring on the sky on wings of black night, star-speckled dust adorning your clothes as you plummet, only to be caught and held to the bosom of your nightmares. They caress you, a feeling like the kiss of velvet and rusting nails, and you scream, not knowing if the sound clawing it's way from your god-forsaken lips is of ecstasy or pain, or even if there is a difference between the two. Falling into a deep well that is lined with the etchings of the grieved and deprived as they fell. A fetid wind flows upwards, bringing scents, and memories with the scents. Some of the memories are yours, some are the raving remembrances of those who fell before you. You wonder if your thoughts will taint the well of sacred fear as you plummet, all the while staring in fascination at the depravity in which you are slowly sinking into. Quickly, your personality begins to crack, letting in the other memories, until you live them, instead of watching them flit by like glimmering birds. Did I truly do that? you ask as you fall. Did her throat really feel like that under my hands? Is blood better tasting when taken, or freely offered? Can mud really bring a man to a weeping ball at my feet? Who is that behind me, bringing a foul-smelling cloth over my bruised mouth?
-----Faster and faster you fall, the memories coming quicker and quicker until they all blur into a mass of violence tinged with regret and creeping madness. Oblivion wings pat you, first a bat, a raven, then a winged serpent, eyes glowing malevolently as it teases you, letting the sweet darkness creep in, then take it away, laughing at your screams as you plummet. An odd courtship begins, all the while you fall, trying to tempt oblivion to you. You pray to become one of the succubi, a hell spawn, if only to touch and obtain the sweet Oblivion.