Squalid Furor
Posted by Shawn Romance
In a split second, the unnerving trickle of blood to the tiny tips of my fingers gives rise to my innate urge to kill. Today there will be bloodshed and my revenge will be swift. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck begin to curl, can I control myself or is it too late?
I wake up staring at my blood soaked hands, but it’s over and my pulse is calming. After your first kill the black outs are no longer scary, you come to accept them. The black outs occur more frequently now, but the passion which accompanies them is mind-blowing. The craving does not subside and you must learn to control yourself, if you become to brazen the world will know that you are the evil creature lurking under the pale city lights.
The stories they are telling aren’t true, but there is no way that you can quell their filthy, whorish mouths.
There was a time when the thirst was quenched through small animals and the neighborhood pets, but killing “larger” things was too tempting. The jump occurred suddenly; a woman decided that she was the blessed one now she is lying in a ditch outside of town where scavenging animals have taken care of her.
A therapist can’t cure me. Hope is lost.
The dirty looks and immoral pursuits, they should be so lucky as to meet their end at my hands. Little do they know that I use no weapons. The last one was a squealer; and was still breathing as I ripped apart his ribcage and removed his aorta. I know I may seem crazy but you have to understand that I have no choice. I was drawn into this through years of torment and an easily manipulated mind. My advice to you is to watch your path; or you will be staring up at a grinning, beastly butcher.
People of the civilized world beware: we are all animals, and all animals have urges.
In a split second, the unnerving trickle of blood to the tiny tips of my fingers gives rise to my innate urge to kill. Today there will be bloodshed and my revenge will be swift. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck begin to curl, can I control myself or is it too late?
I wake up staring at my blood soaked hands, but it’s over and my pulse is calming. After your first kill the black outs are no longer scary, you come to accept them. The black outs occur more frequently now, but the passion which accompanies them is mind-blowing. The craving does not subside and you must learn to control yourself, if you become to brazen the world will know that you are the evil creature lurking under the pale city lights.
The stories they are telling aren’t true, but there is no way that you can quell their filthy, whorish mouths.
There was a time when the thirst was quenched through small animals and the neighborhood pets, but killing “larger” things was too tempting. The jump occurred suddenly; a woman decided that she was the blessed one now she is lying in a ditch outside of town where scavenging animals have taken care of her.
A therapist can’t cure me. Hope is lost.
The dirty looks and immoral pursuits, they should be so lucky as to meet their end at my hands. Little do they know that I use no weapons. The last one was a squealer; and was still breathing as I ripped apart his ribcage and removed his aorta. I know I may seem crazy but you have to understand that I have no choice. I was drawn into this through years of torment and an easily manipulated mind. My advice to you is to watch your path; or you will be staring up at a grinning, beastly butcher.
People of the civilized world beware: we are all animals, and all animals have urges.
This entry was posted by Ben Myers, on
Sunday, June 04, 2006.
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