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December 31, 1930. 1:15am


I sat in my home cradling the corpse of my beloved. I killed her.

I had to.

I loved her. I still do!

I felt as my sanity steadily decreased more and more. I've done this so many times, not an ounce of regret or guilt plagued my mind. But now.. I turned her face to look at me, her eyes were open, lifeless and dull. She's gone.

A wide smile placed itself on my face, floods of laughter leaving my lips, I hung my head down, the laughter only getting louder.

I can't put her on display. I can't treat her like my other art displays, the police don't get to see her like this. No one does. No one but me.

Because I did this. To her.

I can't bury her. She can't decay like all the other corpses. She's too good for that.

I want her to be part of me..

Part of me.
Part of me.

The same three words played like a record in my mind. The real world fading as I dragged my lover to the kitchen.

Part of me. As I laid her on the counter.

Part of me. As I raised my cleaver.

Part of me. As the blood spattered about the room.

Part of me. As I put the uncooked meat into my mouth.

Ayo it's been a few years😅 anyway this story is over I got bored of it sorry 😞

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