i walk through the forest with a snarl at anything that dares to oppose my corrupted, untamed self. i am the hunter, the feral child with fleas in their hair and mud on their feet, and i have never been more famished.
the prey can hear me by now, and they know that rank scent of mine. they know that i will grab them by the tail, or maybe by the ears. that i will rake them with my claws, until rivers of blood spill over the once-pretty flowers on the forest floor. that i have done it twice, and will do it again.
i wish to tear out my bowels. tear them out, so that i can't be hungry anymore. tear out my teeth, so that i can't sink them into the tender flesh of my prey. tear me apart, so that my blood drowns the flowers as well.
why does this universe let my heart keep beating after i devoured the heart of another, hungry for more? why do you keep listening to me talk, thinking my voice is sweet? can't you see my fangs? can't you see that i've got blood on them? why does anyone take my hand, bruised from killing anoher being and strong enough to do so once more?
a songbird circles around my head, and i wish to take pleasure in the sight. i'd give anything to stare in awe at its feathers, the bright colours reflected in the sunlight. to listen to its charming song, and take pleasure in how it harmonizes with the rustling of leaves. but my heart has gone dry and brown, like the blood that stains my face. i've got no choice but to sit down and wail.
