G U I L T.

I want to be the sexiest corpse you've ever seen. Laid out on the autopsy table, absolutely irresistible.

Oh, does your stomach hurt? Poor thing. We should probably go to the bathroom, just in case. Yeah, let me get a towel for your knees. I'd hate for you to be sore. Hm? Don't mind me, watching you shove your head in the toilet, shame flooding your brain alongside the nausea. I'm not watching the way your spine contorts and your body heaves like a possessed body as you vomit. Excuse me while I touch myself to the sounds of your pathetic, hoarse moans, and the sight of your flushed face, discolored drool dripping from your lips. You're so weak, pathetic, and helpless when you're done, your breath ragged and eyes bloodshot, and i don't even mind the taste of stomach acid on your lips.

Throatfucking. Literally. Slit my throat and push your cock or fingers into it. I don't mind. It feels nice.

Sex tape? No, sorry, sweetheart, I'm making a snuff film of us. You'll look so pretty on film, I promise. Yes, I'll get your best angles, I'll get the gleaming white shine of your skull, and I'll get those pathetic little whiny sounds you're gonna make when you see your insides. Trust me baby, it's better like this. You'll be a star.

He's so cute. I want to be wrist deep in his organs.

Tried to distance myself from him by thinking of his as a brother and then I came seven times in a row. What could that possibly mean.

He's so sweet and kind and supportive and I dont know what to do with it. All i know is teeth and scratching, and hes just soft flesh. I don't deserve him, not in the self depreciation way, but in the karmic way.

Oh my god im so close let me just *my hand slips down my body, not to my groin, but to an open wound on my stomach. My fingers slide into that red, sticky, wet warmth and I finally cum*

Having a 'crush' (that feels like such a juvenile phrase) feels like a frog dissection. They're the frog. I'm the knife. I need to peel them open and see what their insides look like to truly understand them. So I never do.

Having a 'crush' (that feels like such a juvenile phrase) feels like a frog dissection. They're the frog. I'm the knife. I need to peel them open and see what their insides look like to truly understand them. So I never do.

I hate talking to a sweet guy because he just wants to take care of me and respect me and show me the kindness I haven't gotten from others, the kindness that I feel I don't deserve, the kindness I dont know what to do with — all the while, I'm wishing I could feel the cold metal of his gun press against my temple after he's chased me through the woods, I can barely breathe, and I'm bloodied from the blackberry bushes he shoved me against. And, as the username suggests, I feel guilty about it all. Just so incredibly fucking guilty about every indecent, reprehensible, perverted thought I have about him.

Why does a hot shower against a slightly open wound feel like being fingered