The tell-tale pursuit of infatuation, grotesquery and other fascinations.

I seem to have recurring obsessions, patterns that never want to leave me be.

The taste of blood in my mouth,
the sensation of my skin breaking under any violent action.

Shocking realizations that shatter the soul and provide a sensation of fully grasping the meaning of ideas that are intricately impertinent.

Simply said; i hate being in love, i love being in pain.

It is like being in a chase that weakens everyone involved.
Like a monstrous train, running its course with only an imminent crash as final destination.

Then death; living, breathing, functional death.
Emptiness, the lonely melancholiac whisper of a lullaby.
A mantra chanted to your inner child.
That one cheated by trauma.

It brings me back to needles and hemoglobin filled tubes.
Cancer is a demon, love is a cancer, sex is love, and demons are sex.

Insanity, fuck love.
No greater pleasure for me than the one laced with extreme pain.
I chase you and others chase me.

Forgive my train of thought.

The fear of all things.

Do anything so as not to be in the right time at the right moment.
What happens if all works out okay?
Sadness being the drug of choice of my artistic creations.
Rip the flesh, expose the soul.
Use my blood to paint a bigger picture.
Gore as medium of expression.
Madness until peace will out.
If it makes sense i am doing something wrong.
Whisper.

I know you don’t want to read this.
I’ll just wait in the dark until you say yes.