Blood. Dripping blood.

I hate it. I hate it with all I have and all I am. I despise it.

Yet I love it.

I stare down at my hands, the hands that are there, but they aren't really. The hands that at night become their true form, that cause the flesh to rip, the blood to pool, the life to end. The hands that, in their true form, become the darkest metal, the darkest claws.

And I mourn it.

My hands are clean, but I can see the blood dripping.

I can hear it dripping.

Drip, drip, drip.

It tortures my mind. The blood has created a cage, and there is no door. There is nothing.

Ah, if only I were not this way. If only my eye was not blind. If only my eyes were not red. If only.

They used to tell me they loved me, that I was treasured. That they cared. That they would never let anything hurt me, no matter what.

LIES!

Lies, each and every one of them. They left me to face my future alone, and so I became this being. This murderous, selfish, cruel beast that longs for the taste of blood, yet abhors it.

And so, in my madness, I turned on them.

Now they are gone.

And I have no one to turn. No one to tell me comforting lies. No one to care.

Time after time after time I try to end this madness. This insanity. This crazed bloodlust. And through starving myself of violence, I turn on myself.

Rip, tear at the flesh.

My arm is riddled with scars now.

I cannot bear to harm another, but I must see the blood. I must taste it.

Drip, drip.

Echoing in my mind.

Drip, drip, drip, drip.

Another red tear to join the ocean I have made.

Drip.

Drawing a line across my arm. Across the scars that seem never to heal.

Drip, drip, drip.

See the firey copper well up.

Drip, drip.

See it fall to the ground.

Drip.

See it fall into my mind. Into my eyes. Clouding them over so I may not see the truth.

Plink.

That is the sound that has plagued my mind since that day.

Since I have entered this state of mind.

And now, I end it.

It is the sunset. Dark wings burst out of my shoulder blades. I savour the pain. It is the only thing that is real. With the blood. The feathers are stained. dark copper splattered on the black. My one good eye glows with the bloodlust. Grows wide in the night. Hands.

Oh my hands.

My hands that are not hands, but claws. Dark metal fades into existence where my fingers once were. My mind is being taken over.

Plink.

Drip.

Plink, plink, plink.

Drip, drip.

I am going to end it now.

There will be no more.

And hell, whatever that place is, cannot be any worse than this existence.

Longer and longer my claws are growing.

Existing.

A manic laugh. It is the first sound I have made for years.

Driving dark metal into my heart, slicing my neck.

Ah. the blood.

Drip, drip, drip.

It falls to the floor.

Drip.