Blood...
Does liking blood make me an automatic outcast? What's wrong with telling someone, "I think i have an obsession with blood."
At least you're telling them the truth. What's wrong with cleaning your own wound? Dogs drink their own blood after the battle, what's
so inhumane about a human doing it? What if i like the taste, the texture, the color of blood? Does that mean i have blood lust?
What if i do? Does that make me some horrible person? I'm not killing someone else, for the taste or texture, of the blood.
Maybe i should explain myself better. I love the color of blood, but not when it's fresh. The color of drying blood, the deep, dark, brownish - red. It's my favorite color. The texture, smooth like water, when it puddles, it reflects like glass. It shines with a luster. The taste?
I don't mind it, it's not like its revolting. You've ever wondered what it would feel like to cut your wrist? The blade rushing across your skin, the
sweet pain and numbing, the adrenaline rush as you watch the blood flow from your veins? Ever wonder? Isn't the feeling of the blade enough to make you wonder. The sensual, sexual feeling? Don't the scars make you remember the feeling? Don't you want to try it, try one last time. Dig the blade deep into your flesh, and drag it down to your pulsing veins. The racing of your heart, the heat in your hand, the memory in your head. What's wrong with that? It's all for the feeling... right?
At least you're telling them the truth. What's wrong with cleaning your own wound? Dogs drink their own blood after the battle, what's
so inhumane about a human doing it? What if i like the taste, the texture, the color of blood? Does that mean i have blood lust?
What if i do? Does that make me some horrible person? I'm not killing someone else, for the taste or texture, of the blood.
Maybe i should explain myself better. I love the color of blood, but not when it's fresh. The color of drying blood, the deep, dark, brownish - red. It's my favorite color. The texture, smooth like water, when it puddles, it reflects like glass. It shines with a luster. The taste?
I don't mind it, it's not like its revolting. You've ever wondered what it would feel like to cut your wrist? The blade rushing across your skin, the
sweet pain and numbing, the adrenaline rush as you watch the blood flow from your veins? Ever wonder? Isn't the feeling of the blade enough to make you wonder. The sensual, sexual feeling? Don't the scars make you remember the feeling? Don't you want to try it, try one last time. Dig the blade deep into your flesh, and drag it down to your pulsing veins. The racing of your heart, the heat in your hand, the memory in your head. What's wrong with that? It's all for the feeling... right?