Madness

There's nothing sexy about my mood today, nothing sexual. I am worn to the bone and so on edge I could cut with a look.
I don't want to play today, don't want to toy with you and enjoy your pretty reactions. I don't want sex, or the taste of your cock on my lips.
Not today.

Today I want blood, and I want the sweet knowledge of pain, and injury.
I want the wet snap of bone and the sharp hiss of the razor, the gentle burble of blood.

I want a body hanging like a side of beef from a hook, the cool darkness and the weight of the blade in my hand. I want to take out this rage on innocent flesh and feel it give beneath my hand. I want the uncontrolled swing of fury, lodging deep in muscle and bone. I want the spurt of blood as it gives, the flow of life from a body spasming in pain and fear and rage. I want the walls spattered with beautiful ruby designs painted by a swinging arc of shining steel.
I want the deep primal screams which only terror give, the scream that means you know that your death is not coming, but here in the room beside you.
I want the shuddering cry as the last trickles of life flow from your throat to the floor.