You know the scent, the smell, the twist and the swell that your heart gets when you’re barely alive, but still?
He feels that when I pull on his skin as if it were a candy wrapper and what I need to survive for this very moment is buried inside
I feel maniacal when I dig into his insides, becoming filthy and unclean when things begin to get dirty
He can’t say a thing, there’s blood clogged up in his lungs and his eyes are teared up and his brain all a mess
I know he wants to say something, perhaps, beg me to stop? But I don’t hear a word so I ravage him, tear into him, and bite the flesh that loves me like a savage beasts fueled by the moon and my own curious imbalanced sanity.
Vulnerable boys are my favorite toys because they can’t fight back. I love to play with their broken bodies until their bones and skulls go “crack”.