Sitting alone all night with bottles of liquor under dim light That surfacing premise; The killer inside writhing under restraint. The sound of meat packing, the violent smacking of rawness, slapped against a concrete floor The vile stench of abdomen The cleansing prescence of blood over me. Trying to eradicate the feeling beneath me, seeming to believe flesh isn't what I'm craving. It'll all be better in just a few hours only after I slaughter, devour and shower in bloody catharsis. I miss the taste of severed nerve endings. I'll cut and kill them all to be sent from hell to lead their fall Hacking knives in the back, Snuffing the candlelight from long stemmed cries bring me delight. The need to murder and hear their screams I want to feast on their lost dreams I miss the smell of crusted blood on my hands I want to kill again. |
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February 15, 2007
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