xx.

i think about it every night and day (murder)

you're naked on the bedroom floor. clothes cut off, thrown aside. my hands are still wet from the last cut, and i drag my fingers up your inner thigh, leaving a warm red trail behind. your back arches when i press my palm flat against the wound just below your hipbone, grinding the heel of my hand into your torn flesh. i lean down and taste the blood on your neck. my knife traces your collarbone, your sternum, the soft hollow of your throat. i don't cut there. not yet. i slide two fingers into the wound on your thigh, curl them, and you scream into my mouth while i kiss you. your blood is all over both of us now, it's slick, warm, pulsing with your heartbeat. and i can feel it slowing, pulling back just to watch your face while I push the knife in deeper your abdomen. your eyes roll. your mouth stays open. i stay inside you until the trembling stops.

i'm just a regular everyday normal motherfucker (actually deplorable human being)