..i yearn ..for the temperature ..of flesh. i want ..to touch it...feel it's pliancy .tear. between my fingers. rip it ..with my hands. i need .to have the temperature of the blood against ..my skin, tracing along the lines of .my fingerprints,. staining .my palms,. embedding in the folds, caking under ...my nails. i must.. feed .the hunger inside of.. me. this. temptation is maddening. i must release these urges before .i draw them inward and tear .myself apart. this is not a mild hunger, or some- thing that will pass. .i. have been .this way since ..i festered in my mother's womb. i have grown to know that i .am .a .heartless .sociopath who .must fulfill fate's twisted geas set upon .me by chance. invisible passions guide these hands. .i can not control them. .i am but a vessel to the supreme will which forges my way. this is the art of. ending lives and enhancing ...mine. this is

m u r d e r