A Killer who thinks.

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I was falling into madness. A madness of my own doing. And all I ever wanted was that which I was about to accomplish. I was falling to darkness, and I felt nothing but lust. Desire. Animal, Primeval, howling desire to embrace the masness that approached me with mocking promises. It laughed at my foolishness, it jerred at the supreme, unsurpassed idiocy of a creature such as myself, one that wished to drink the elixir of nothingness, knowing full well of its consequences. Void. Complete black. An eternity of watching the future become history. Of towers collapsing to dust and dust rising to mammoths. An endless pursuit, a madness. With one grotesque, intoxicating kiss, I had set bare my soul as fodder for demons. I had become the architect of my own damnation. My core was laced with insanity. And how sweet the feeling. I revelled in the ecstasy of becoming a deviant, one that belonged nowhere, one that was truly free, of love, of hate, of affection, of expectation, of rebuff, free to pursue that which was my sustenance, my madness, my muse