Um . . . Random things I write

Murder In The First Degree

  I want to kill you.

  I want to kill you so fucking badly. You have no idea.

  Every time I look at you, every time I think of you, I feel this hate rise up in me. I want you dead. I want you dead by my hands. I want to see the life in your eyes vanish, and I want the savage pleasure of knowing I caused that.

  I don't have a specific way that I want to kill you. Sometimes, when I close my eyes I can feel your throat pulsing in my hands. Whenever I'm writing I can feel the weight of the knife in my hand and the warm blood that splatters all over me. I can hear your screams like a melody in my head.

  I wonder; do you know? Do you have any idea how I feel? Do you know I want to kill you? If you do, how will you stop me? Do you have any plans to fight back? I hope you do. Resistance will make the moment all the more sweeter. I want to feel the strength in your arms fade, see the light in your eyes die.

  I want to kill you. I want you to die by my hands. I want you to fight and squirm and I want you to fail. I want your blood to shower over me, and I need to feel your heart stop beating.

  So, I guess we'll talk later.

  Okay?