It has been six weeks since I’ve been able
to take another life. I’m writing this in a brief moment of lucidity between
fits brought on by exhaustion and craving. I see him everywhere. Daniel
Westburn is the monster of nightmares.
Nightmares I don’t even have anymore,
replaced with lucid dreams of chewing and climaxing, chewing and climaxing. It
doesn’t stop. It never stops. I haven’t slept in what feels like months. Every
time I turn around he’s there watching me. Waiting for me to do what once came
so naturally to me. But my dreams have gone far beyond fantasy.
I can taste it. I can smell it; I can hear
it pumping through every single person that I touch. Blood. So thick; so
anxious for my tongue that it calls out to me in all my waking hours. It has
seeped through the walls of my subconscious into my waking nightmare. It’s too
strong, beyond anything I could control.
My blade needs to taste flesh. Warm and weak in my hands. I stop myself every
time but it’s becoming too much. The dreams I’ve had about gutting James are
all to frequent.
Last night he slept on the couch.
I found him with my blade anyways.
I’ve considered turning the blade on myself
just to find some relief. To plunge the blade into my ribcage and slice upward
just enough that I can reach in, clutch my still beating heart, and squeeze until all I taste, smell, and
see is blood.
Finally, sweet relief.
But I’m not quite there yet.
I fear something wonderfully horrible may
happen if I do not find my release soon.
As always, dear readers,
Stay Safe
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