ENTRANCE


Do you know how fun it would be to kill someone? To hold their very existence in the palm of your hand. The knife you weild has the power to defy the fucking mangled creation they are. I mean, imagin with me, to hold the sword of justice for the other person's life. To do whatever tortures you would want to do freely. To hear the quiet wisp of the sword passing through their veil of flesh, through all the fucking shit there made of, into their heart. To see the life flow from their eyes taken by the fucked-up image you have of yourself. To see your blade stained with their lovely red blood. To own their heart...to own their soul. Imagine. Imagine the fucking possibilities. The memory burned into your mind, of hopless eyes looking into your eyes, almost begging forgiveness, to eventually see past you, then to see nothing at all. Do you know how fucking great that would feel? To feel your sword drain their very fucking essence of life from their fucking heart. To steal everything they have felt, everything they have done. And for a split second, you become them, you are what they are, and when you look into their glazed eyes again you can almost see a "new life" in them. In their eyes you see the "perfect world." You see what you will never fucking experience in your goddamned fucking lifetime. You see what they have and what you will never get. You see your fantasy world in their eyes. You see everything that you have ever wanted, ever dreamed of having, ever had longing for, belongs to them. You see all this in their eyes. You see this and realize what you have done. You realize what your killing has done to you. But that is where we differ. To see these things make me smile. Have you ever held a bird? I have. The bird was hit with a pellet in my bee-bee gun. It was a clean hit...right under the wing...in other words, a slow painful death for the bird. As I walked up to it I watched if flutter helplessly on the ground. I picked the bird up feeling its blood and soul flow between my fingers. I looked into its eyes and that's the first time I saw my dream world. I held the bird awhile longer, then released it to a tree branch. I then shot it in the eye. To see it die...to feel it suffer, that is my greatest childhood memory. Through a bird, a fucking bird, I saw my dream world...imagine what it would be like with a human. I work with the living canvas...their pain, my pleasure...their hate, my brush...their wounds, my art...their blood, my paint. To feel that, is my only true happiness...