smoking-alone:

Every day I dream about dying.

So every night, I stay awake.

I see more in the dark.

And there’s so much to be afraid of.

You’re sweet and bright.

I guess I picked you before you were
supposed to fall…

But I suppose that’s the way life is.

You’re still full of warm flesh and
blood.

But what’s underneath?

I was going to kill you nicely.

The… the ‘right’ way.

Like how hunters kill rabbits or
farmers kill chickens.

But I’m not a hunter.

And there’s nothing anyone can do to
stop me… Heh…

I don’t want to kill you like that.

I want to peel away your layers and
unwind your strings.

I’ll pull every part of you and spread
you out.

I’ll watch your blood and feel the
warmth spill out of you.

You’ll be a perfect, beautiful mess.

Broken… ruined… dead…

And all mine.