Truth.

Like a drug, so addicting.
The rush, the release, the warmth.
I thought I could stop as I pleased.
Oh, was I wrong.
1 turned to 2 which turned to 3, 4.
You cannot stop.
It burns deep inside you.
The most primal, most animalistic, most real.
It's inside everyone, you are just too weak so see.
This void inside my body that needs to be filled.
Death.
Death is life.
All I do is assist life by becoming death. Bathing in it.
My need to kill.
Our need to kill.
We all feel it, but you are too scared to act. "Animals" they call us, not even human.
But how can such a beautiful, natural, thing be so hated.
The weak.
The scared.
Must be vanquished.
Only those worthy.
Worthy of the blood.
The warmth, the life of one being taken by another.
You cannot stop once you start.
The hunger grows.
The need to bathe.
The need to feast.
It is true love.
It is true life.
The love of death and murder.
To be covered in blood.
Ah, I'm joking I promise.
©bitchlover