BLOOD LUST
I wish I never started to fight. I can't even explain the fervent passion I have for blood.
My Blood Lust.
The viscous temptation that calls my name with such force, that it makes me quiver. The red liquid that stains my pale fingers when I gently stroke my fallen opponent's scarred face. The addictive flavor of salty-sweet, rusted-metallic taste, which I lick from my torn flesh around my bloodied knuckles. It sends me into a insanity of thirst that I cannot fully quench.
My Blood Lust.
Many opponents fall to my feet as I take down one after the other, but as much as I win these miniscule battles, I cannot stop. There is no end to my never ending internal war that has my self-control and sanity hanging by a single fragile thread. I wish, personally, I never had to fight him, the start of all my madness.
My Blood Lust.
What had started as a innocent infatuation when he and I were young, grew into a violent destruction of my heart. I thought I loved this constant companion, but oh how dreadfully wrong I was. The way he would randomly push me into to the cold cement wall just to brutally ravish me, made me open up to my wild tormented soul. This would be the last time he used a broken piece of my heart as a worthless toothpick after his sensual meal. Every time his rough, calloused hands bruised my sickly white skin and bit my neck telling me he loved me, didn't hurt me just physically but mentally too. That's when I did it. HISdark blood the littered my kitchen floor. The stench that pricked my delicate nose and left it tingling with satisfaction. He finally got what he deserved. Finally.
My Blood Lust.