In moments of madness,
I lick my lips and envisage,
Me committing acts of extreme violence.
Sometimes, I'd be making a sandwich and the blade,
slicing through the ripe tomatoe...oooh, would send shivers down my spine...
and you with you back facing me, your neck, would look so ripe so ready to be sliced.
And I would close my eyes and envisage what your neck would look like cut open, with your crimson, life force flowing freely, from the cut...staining the shiny silver blade, in my hand.
How would it flow? Would it spuirt? Would it splirt?...
Overcome with euphoria, I feel myself become excited and aroused, my breathing becomes laboured.
You touch your cool fingers to my face I look and smile at you.
"Would you like tomatoe with your cheese?", I ask.
"No thank you", you say.
And I smile to myself and think, good answer and let out a sigh of relief.
Until next time I think.
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