Wednesday, October 8, 2008
♥ If Everyone Cared
So.. it's not human food making me sick. I'm still a good chunk human. It's the pills. My body has yet to get used to them. Is that because they are so unnatural to my half supernatural form? It has been more than a week. Why am I yet feeling sick?
I get tired. I visit the restroom a lot. I feel hungry, then eat, but I don't eat too much, because I feel sick not long after. I drink a lot of water.
I'm beginning to wonder..
Do I really need these?
Sure, there haven't been many huge ass mood swings, but should I be physically sick, or mentally?
Today, I forgot to take it. I usually down the thing at noon. I took it after dinner. Before then, I felt fine. After that, I spend about thirty minutes on the damn toilet seat, wondering what the hell was wrong.
Bathroom jobs are so vial.
I'd enjoy vampirism for not only immortality and power, but for its (hopefully, according to Anne Rice) lack of bathroom use.
But the blood is so delicious, so sweet, so satisfying..
I find that I crave it out of sheer lust, just to taste it in my mouth. For the second time, I had a brief drink. I'm standing over him, my lips to his shoulder as I take in the few droplets that have come to the surface. My tongue follows the slice on his skin, feeling pure hunger, pure lust, the pure desire for more. When the wound clots, I take myself away, grinning and laughing hysterically. It's as if someone has spiked a drink that I had. I'm high on his blood.
I'm addicted.
To blood in general.
I find sometimes, the cravings are overwhelming, simply because I want it, not out of sheer need. I want that high. I don't care who donates. It's such a wonderful feeling to drink and feel it.
And the fantasy resumes itself in my head. The wonderful images of Ron. The sight of his teeth to my neck. Or mine to his. The smell of blood and humans. The heat.
It's all so much.
I find this desire to sometimes be its own entity, its own voice. And when I hear a particular song, it speaks to me. It tells me to let it go, to not restrain itself.
I was in a classroom when this took place.
I found my eyes wondering from person to person, wondering how each of their blood types would taste and strength me.
Ron frightened me only a few nights ago. But this other side now begs to see this other side of Ron, calls for him.
That can't happen. And it won't as long as I keep control of my power.
I'm in control. And I'll remain in control until the time when blood touches my mouth. For that brief moment, it can satisfy itself.
I'm one messed up individual.
I get tired. I visit the restroom a lot. I feel hungry, then eat, but I don't eat too much, because I feel sick not long after. I drink a lot of water.
I'm beginning to wonder..
Do I really need these?
Sure, there haven't been many huge ass mood swings, but should I be physically sick, or mentally?
Today, I forgot to take it. I usually down the thing at noon. I took it after dinner. Before then, I felt fine. After that, I spend about thirty minutes on the damn toilet seat, wondering what the hell was wrong.
Bathroom jobs are so vial.
I'd enjoy vampirism for not only immortality and power, but for its (hopefully, according to Anne Rice) lack of bathroom use.
But the blood is so delicious, so sweet, so satisfying..
I find that I crave it out of sheer lust, just to taste it in my mouth. For the second time, I had a brief drink. I'm standing over him, my lips to his shoulder as I take in the few droplets that have come to the surface. My tongue follows the slice on his skin, feeling pure hunger, pure lust, the pure desire for more. When the wound clots, I take myself away, grinning and laughing hysterically. It's as if someone has spiked a drink that I had. I'm high on his blood.
I'm addicted.
To blood in general.
I find sometimes, the cravings are overwhelming, simply because I want it, not out of sheer need. I want that high. I don't care who donates. It's such a wonderful feeling to drink and feel it.
And the fantasy resumes itself in my head. The wonderful images of Ron. The sight of his teeth to my neck. Or mine to his. The smell of blood and humans. The heat.
It's all so much.
I find this desire to sometimes be its own entity, its own voice. And when I hear a particular song, it speaks to me. It tells me to let it go, to not restrain itself.
I was in a classroom when this took place.
I found my eyes wondering from person to person, wondering how each of their blood types would taste and strength me.
Ron frightened me only a few nights ago. But this other side now begs to see this other side of Ron, calls for him.
That can't happen. And it won't as long as I keep control of my power.
I'm in control. And I'll remain in control until the time when blood touches my mouth. For that brief moment, it can satisfy itself.
I'm one messed up individual.
♥ My
doll smiled.
5:04 PM
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5:04 PM
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