Sunday, October 10

I have weird thoughts.

>His fingertips guided gently across her face, smooth but with a bite. His touch was obvious and detected. His eyes were like puppies sulking and pleading, although unlike puppies, when sad his tail never went down. There always was a please after his thank yous and his thank yous were minor. From the outside he was nothing but a smile and a personalty. On the inside he was nothing but a raging noose of hormones, that wrapped themselves tightly around anything they could find. He'd take a girl by her hand, and make her feel alright, then rip her soul from her body and eat her flesh. He'd steal her dignity and force her to run naked, while he'd dress in her clothes and stand by the blind and give off her scent of innocence. Sometimes he was different though, there captured in his heart was a hint of guilt, that ran through his blood once every year. These days, sometimes were the worse, where the girl could run home with her skin intact but it would leave the girl hurt. Why did he suddenly not want to mistreat her? She'd heard the stories and suddenly her virtue was not desirable? The man would not touch her, because the guilt had sunken in and he could not ruin her by mixing his musky, off putting scent with hers that smelt of honey and hope. He'd spare her, and to make up for his good deed he'd rip his teeth into another honey tasting flower, that bleed and bruised. There were lucky ones and there were unfortunate ones, but both felt the same in the end. He was a monster, his teeth snarled. He was a monster. He was a destroyer. He was a man.

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