Thrashy

It’s that trashy feeling one gets when faced with a joke that is not funny, a smile that is not sincere, a flirting wink empty of lust, and a half empty bottle of liver poison broken by accident….Ad Nauseam.

It’s that feeling that kindles one’s intractable lust for unbridled aggression and magickal bombardment of the infernal kind…

Who gives a fuck who will be lucky enough to get all of that beautiful wrath…

An Itch

It’s been coming and going lately, that carnivorous instinct, like a severe itch that just can’t be scratched. Itching for bodies, for warm sweaty runs and salty blood, through the evergreen nightshade. 

It's an itch. When every single impulse of stress and hatred crashes like giant waves on the inside of one’s skull, fracturing and ripping apart whatever limits may still be there.