Blood. Bodies upon bodies. Still. Not a living cell present. Lifeless. I absolutely adore the thought of it. Doing the honors of taking action is all the more better. Something about it... Death. I LOVE it. Words cannot express. Its unfathomable. Completely incomprehensible. It'd be hard for a... well, normal being to understand.
Ever since I can remember... I've always been fascinated and intrigued by stories upon factual information of murderers... Physco killers. It makes me feel as if I belong. Like there's a place for me out there amongst all the living waste and debris. This world is going to Hell.
Don't even get me started on horror films. I'm usually not one to brag, but I am the horror film MASTER. I love to see a creative mind basque within the neat and tender lines of their talent and passion. Not even within the lines... I feel like he who leads a performance such as this art has a mind and soul that does not travel between the lines of a regular Joe. He knows the world and he knows what he is capable of. He is the posessor of an ancient soul. An explicit art. A beautiful addiction.
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Utterly Incomplete & Prepossessed
RandomThis piece is literally a piece. It is not a story. It is written in the way of my mind. Broken fragments of muchness and scraps of poetry. The setting is in the mind of a murderer. He who kills is either seen as a sinner or an artist...
