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The sweet feeling of those vices that indulges the whole of you. Sending electric signals to your head, engulfing your brain and driving path defining signals through your spinal, ravaging any and every trace of virtue along its path. Deep down the soul knows it's stealthily crawling towards oblivion, but the sense of fulfilment, the rapturous applause from the cheering demons, the never ceasing accolades from the gate keepers of destruction beclouds the senses and renders tissues of good numb an inactive.
Slowly but steadily, the selfish, self-seeking, arrogant and satisfying feeling keeps driving the flesh, dragging reluctantly the soul and spirit along towards the self-destructive silhouette of self satisfaction and human pleasurables. As the spirit gets starved daily of the thirst for higher power, the flesh efflagitates for more infusion of the worldly. The vanity infused daily renders the soul garrulous. With these comes vain inscriptions, finding resource in the flesh and marking its own out for a lagniappe of soul extinction.
But then vice to a clergyman is different from vice to an atheist, vice to a religious man is different from vice to a traditional man; same as virtues. The definitions of these abstracts are a function of one's perception and society.
But in all let not the satisfactions of thy flesh defeat the true and divine purpose of thy existence.