a dark place, in my mind. I mean, it's kind of empty... It doesn't do much... But when it is dark, and my Friend is in my hand, the bloodstains all over my white hoodie, my face cut into the everlasting grin, I feel... Joy.
A joy that can't be described with human words. And then it isn't dark anymore. It's red, bright red. And it isn't empty. It's full of voices telling me what to do, where to cut the veins that hold the precious life of innocent people.
That's what I do.
But when the sky is bright, and I sit alone in my house in the cornfield, the smell of death in the air, the steady drip of a leaky faucet sounding through the house, and the curtains pulled tightly to black out any light from reaching my twisted nature. It's....
A Dark Place.... My mind...
Its... kind of empty...
But that's okay. I just sit in the corner.
And wait
And that's how I lived for a long time. Sometimes, I would hear the stories... When I am out at night. I hear the stories and rumors of my existence... they all think it is a joke...
But it's always refreshing to show them how wrong they are.
Silly people. They put their trust in faulty things...
Like flimsy locks that can be broken by a jab with my Friend, or kicked open, or picked.
Like unreliable Security Burglar Alarms, that can be disabled in a moment, or can be faulty or have weak points...
I think of them as challenges... But they are just getting too easy.
No matter...
And then, creeping down the hallways on skilled feet, my hood pulled up over my head. Not as if I am hiding, attempting to not be seen. I don't care about that. Anyone who sees me does not live to tell the tale. And I love it. Sometimes, I kill when they are sleeping, and know that they will never see the light again. Sometimes, I toy with them, testing their false security, laughing at their false accusations, or their attempts at denial. Sometimes, I wake them up, just to let them see my face, just to whisper my name, or attempt to cry for help.
But it all ends the same way; my Friend takes good care of them, ending their life as soon as possible.
Slicing the skin, the tender flesh that attempts to protect the life that bubbles in their veins.
And after every life, my hands stained red, I feel the joy. That feeling, that rush, that high.
I know I am crazy.
I have known that for a very long time.
And I Like it.
But those times, sitting in the corner... When I am not on my rush, when I am sitting, waiting for the dark to consume the world once more....
It's a dark place, in my mind.... It's..... Kind of empty...
XxXxXxXx
It was getting dark outside. But I didn't want to leave my house today. I was a bit scared today.
I kept to myself. Nobody knew the location of my home. And when I left, it was always Head down, Hoodie up, and pure silence, and it was always in the dead of the night.
But there was a package today.
It was sitting on the step, small and in a brown box. But I knew what it meant when I saw it. Someone knew I was here. I was worried. How? How could they have found me?
