/ NIGHTMARES /
a distorted face with dark eyes staring at me.
she's sited on a chair at the far corner of my room, watching.
I'm scared.
she looks ghastly, pale.
I stare into the hollowness of her black eyes. she wants to talk to me, but only weird sounds come out of her mouth. I'm frozen to my bed, I cant move.
it feels like a horror movie.
my body is cold from my own chills. who is this woman?
I wake up with a jolt, like I'm trying to win the freaking marathon. who was that woman? what was she saying?
I quickly feel the pain, I wasn't prepared for that to say the least.
I have a splitting headache.
yesterday, trying to remember what really happened.
oh my freaking god!
he was here. with me, in my house.
"so responsive" flashes from last night start registering in my mind.
"do you know how much I wanna fuck you against that wall"
oh my knuckles!
he was right fucking here, in my fucking house.
am I going crazy?
you were drunk
I remember him being close, too close
more flashbacks
him touching me there
that dirty monster. that dark angel.
he wants to kill you
he's toxic, he's a killer.
this time around lord help me, I swear I wont let him close to me.
I wont
I want to.
back in the office I'm torn.
I cant seem to get the article even nearly done. I'm so fucked.
raised in and out of foster homes, nothing much I know about love, better yet passion.
a 28 year old virgin. what a joke!
more of last night flashbacks torture my mind.
he thrust his fingers there, does that count as still being a virgin?
I stand to grab some coffee. that will get my mind to work.
for the next week, I stay indoors, lock my doors and still haven't gone to the park since the incident.
from the rumors' I heard they found two bodies, a killer on the loose.
little did they know, he is so loose he visits now and then.
he looks at me with those dark eyes and gets me hot and bothered. as much as he scares me, he turns me on like no other man.
I still don't know what is happening.
as much as I want to run when around him, I want to stay.
as much as I want to scream, he makes me moan.
I'm a total mess on my way to distraction.
what is passion?
one might ask. its a lie.
its stupid, its needy. its destructive.
that is passion.
its not love, not even close.
its manipulative, its selfish
I relish in my anger. days like these I hold a grudge. days like these are depressing. feeling unwanted, abandoned. what is there to say about passion?
its a façade.
nothing of such kind exists.
we don't really have a drive towards life. at least my mother didn't.
she gave me up.
like a thing.
I must be worthless, no, she abandoned me.
nothing, but the letters.
I didn't feel the tears streaming down my face even as I stood to get the letters from the drawer. I read them again.
more tears.
she chose him over me, and he killed her.
I harbor so much hate for her, but still haven't found the courage to destroy the stupid letters.
she really did choose him over me, its all I think of.
falling to the floor, I breakdown, again.
RAGE
wiping the blood from my knife with her clothe, I feel high. peaceful.
he deserved to die. they all deserved to die.
standing up looking at the canvas I just painted, a smile forms on my face. beautiful.
Art has always thrilled me.
one last glance at the lifeless bodies, the woman is strikingly similar to her. eyes open, still in shock from the pain of it all. the beauty of death.
the blood has stopped spilling on the dirty cold floor, leaving behind empty hollow veins.
she has the same dark hair, thick.
they are both of the same size too. her lips maybe slightly fuller but pale now.
'Linda'
her name crosses my mind.
mine.
I want to hurt her so bad. then why am I possessive?
what's it about her?
that when I think of someone hurting her, I want to kill them.
I want to hold her and own her at the same time.
I also want to punish her for invading my mind, I want to make her cry in every way possible. those captive grey eyes. I want to worship her.
weakness.
and when I'm done having fun with her, I'll ruin her.