warm thoughts in cold blood.
how could one be so cruel?
to outline such a beautiful heart, admire it, then stab it and tear it to pieces.
you must be twisted.
the same way you twist and shout to your favorite tunes, turning them loud when you're on the prowl
for love; for death.
do you adore the feeling of blood on your hands? on your shirt? your jeans?
or do you adore the one who's blood it is?
you must be sick.
the same way you visited your mother in the hospital and tore the outlets from the wall.
your father cried for days.
you smiled.
how could one ever be forgiven?
