Lying in a tub full of blood, I stare up at the Goth-like ceiling.
Taking a hand full of broken glass and clenching them tightly.
The glass cuts through my hands and blood drips down.
Lying in a tub full of blood, I thought to myself,
Was it wrong that I did it in the past and now?
Was it wrong that I have a passion for it?
Was it wrong that I love the feel of bloody humans?
With the glass still in my hands, I drop them into the tub.
Splashing the bloody water with my body, I let the glass cut my skin.
Not a scream, not a shudder, not a whisper.
Only the sound of my thoughts and the blood.
Is it wrong that I love the feel of sharp items?
Is it wrong that I love bathing in blood?
Is it wrong that I love the taste of a victim’s blood?
Lying in a tub full of blood, I go down deep until I drown.