A KillerWhite rose lying
On top of marred skin
Droplets of blood
Stain the ivory
Flower and epidermis
Looking down upon
The need to see blood spilled
Had been satisfied
The crimson colored liquid
Slowly oozed out of the
Small gashes that she
No guilt wracked her
No regret itched at her
Only the gratification
Of fulfilling the demand
For blood to be spilled
BloodI could see the light leave the eyes of my prey. Or was it a victim? I'm not even sure what to think of them.
All I know is, that I love the rush. I love the screams. I love the blood.
It flows from the wounds I inflict. Almost glowing crimson in the small amount of light that shines down from the moon.
I'm so unsure of what or who I am. All I know is the scent of blood on the breeze. The bright red color seeping from the flesh before me. It's all I can think about at this point.
I know, somewhere deep within my mind, that there is more to me. Some kind of a personality. More than just the blood craving being I am right now. I want to know who this person is. But The blood is still overwhelming all of my senses.
It's almost calling to me. I just can't think right now. I need the blood.
Six Word Memoirs: 1My mind is in the clouds.
I argue with my characters alot.
Mostly, I force myself to be energetic.
Singing is one of my escapes.
A stranger liked my singing.
Scar on my foot. Great story?
Real laughter. Most everything else, fake.
Laughter is my very addicting drug.
I love to make others laugh.
Saying goodbye hurts like hell.
Mom's threatened to get me 'help'.
Love walking my dog in rain.
Submerged. Water makes everything all right.
Blank canvas. Dark or bright colors?
Curse words aren't actually curse words.
I fucking miss you so much.
I'm agnostic. Haven't told my mom.
I apologize almost all the time.
I can fly on paper planes.
Your so special. I love you.
Why do I feel so ignored?
This memoir is utterly, completely pointless.
I see epic wins every day.
Those epic wins are my friends.