Carnivore.

I dream of wolves, both while awake and during sleep. I see their eyes as mine and gaze into myself. I realize now that I am hungry, but I don’t want to give in. I've had the thirst with me ever since I was a child… but now, it has matured and developed into something which I'm not sure I can control. I see prey, in my mind as lamb and helpless, and in the reality which I journey though this is no help to me. For I see prey in them. When I look upon them and into their eyes, I see these things becoming so clear before me and know inside what I thrive to do. Something I know I must do, and that thing is something I know I was born to do.

Never are the dreams the same, but the key figures are always there: The wolf, who I live through. The stalk, which I feel and through by which I understand exhilaration. The power, which tends to the hunger inside of me and offers itself so willingly, to bring to pass the most glorious of feasts. And her, the girl... the nameless, faceless one. She who haunts my dreams. She, the one I lust after and wish for her insides! For that someday soon I may sink inside of her and revel with uproarious delight. A longing, that I will drown in my own bloodthirsty addiction and reach that point in which I have always known could not be cradled.

She always looks the same and I always see the same thing: red. Red is a color I see often, and one which is easily triggered. In my mind, it's the color I notice the most and usually by surprise. Though hundreds of her may pass by there's always one that stands out. And no matter how fast this happens, my eyes will glance the red. It draws me. Often times, I see this world in black, white and grays only. But I always see the red, no matter what. Sometimes I don’t know when I’m dreaming or when I'm not. Being awake and asleep are the same for me now. Because within each realm, I am susceptible to the monster that tells me what I am, and it is constant!

Losing sleep. Things seem to be not as they truly are, and my mind is adrift. I find myself now taking each ever-grasping thought away from its many desires, and as I sit here that focus is shifting unto just one. Is this true to form, or simply a longing which blinds these eyes I see through? I've been here before, in this strange place, just as I have visited dreams time and time again. But my dreams quickly become nightmares, and thrashed headlong into this reality for which I am faced, those nightmares are passed on through soulless, unrelenting bloodshed. Cruel beadsman, in shedding mask: The bleeding eye-holes show only pain as reflected by his lewdness for hire. ‘What have I become?’ I think to myself, as I look into this shattered mirror.