A History of Violence

Fire burns the worst sins. Trust is overrated.

Killing for pleasure is messy, bloody, chaotic...

He was supposed to die.

But now I have him where I want him, I can't help but taste him a little.

All of them.

They've gotten under my skin. These Sacred Hearts boys.

The way they look at me, a need, a hunger clawing inside, I recognize it in the mirror. It's their eyes. They tell me they don't give a fuck if they live or die. That I'm the prey and they're the carnivores. That they're soulless.

But in the end, they all beg.

Violent, bloody, and raw.

Because I'm the real monster.

They just don't know it yet.