#(... shoot!)

i can't go one day without getting horny thinking about bruises

watching a snuff film and muttering "god i wish that were me" under my breath but it's unclear who i'm talking about

bruises are so, so pretty. i love the way the bad ones ripple from the inside out--the edges staining a patchy purple while the inside bleeds yellow. they look like flowers. god, i want to make someone into a bouquet.

i asked your corpse for consent and it said

if you were a deer would you stand frozen in my headlights and let me run you over with my car. Please

i so desperately need a rib cage to press a heavy boot into. i want to lean more and more of my weight on one rib until i hear a satisfying crunch that reverberates up the sole of my boot into my leg. i want them to scream and cry and beg for me to stop, to step off of them, but all i do is shift my foot a little to the left and press again.

i'd be gentle with you, sweetheart. when i press the knife into your skin, i'd make sure our fingers were intertwined on the handle. press, swipe. press, swipe. there, baby. that wasn't so hard, was it? my other hand soft on your other arm, holding it in place as you tremble. come on, you can do one more, can't you. here, let me help you.