If someone saw my mutated thoughts of anger and hatred that come to me in isolation, they would run in fear. I have the monster under your bed chained up in my heart and it's slowly working its way through my viens. It's pumping through me and tearing through my bones, and my romanticized soul only yearns for more. These blood stained razors shouldn't feel like passion or fire, but rage and darkness.
If someone saw my mutated heart, the beat of whish is racing, they would fear me. I am the monster under your bed and I will slowly infect your veins with my hatred. I'm pumping through you and thriving off doubt, of your sanity and morals and limits. I'm flirting with your naive soul and breaking your heart even further. These blood stained razors are my victory, you are fire and rage and passion and darkness.
