Necrophilia is heavy on the mind right now.

Thinking about cutting the tongue from some pathetic bitch’s throat and wrapping it around my dick to get off with whilst their severed head watches from the corner of my room.

Not sorry I’ve been inactive. I don’t care about this app anymore. But don’t fret, I still think of raping the tongues of every poor thing that innocently gazes upon me. Stupid little cunts that think their eyes won’t meet my scalpel if I so had the time. I’m never too far away.

Splitting open the cranium of my deadly beloved just to rape their mind, as they infiltrated mine.

Preserving my lovers tongue to glide along my tip each night. Oh, darling… We said “till death do us part”, did we not? You’re going to remain pleasuring me, whether you know it or not.

Raping their slit-neck as their body convulses against my tip. “That’s right, baby, take me in and out now. You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” Whilst stretching out their inscrutable throat, soaking myself in their innards, rutting against the very end of their existence.

I crave blood. I crave to see the involuntary flinching of legs as their body hangs from my ceiling. I have an insatiable appetite to fuck their gaping abdomen as their cadaver convulses against my canines.

Digging up your sweethearts bloated skull just to slip your cock past their submandibular fossa, one last time before their body inevitably advances into the withered skeleton that burns your tip just from stroking the maxilla above.

I want to kick someone’s teeth into the very backs of their skull.

New-Found-Toy. Their precious blood regurgitating upon the shiny black of my boots, forcing the ends down their throat until their natural acid stains around. Bile coated, such a polishing. Cracking each rib that their body so aversely owns. Every marrow crested to fit me.

Something about a pretty whore that just makes me want to cave their fucking cranium.

Received a wonderful blood-written letter from Vulnus.

I need somebody so utterly infatuated with me that they’d leave me their hanging corpse in hopes that I’d give them the slightest hint of attention, even if it means being unable to witness it themselves.

All of yours flesh is so wasted without my name scarred into it.

My sweet, precious thing… How ever do you expect someone like me to even remotely desire you if you won’t even sacrifice your innards for me? Stupid, naive, selfish. That is all you are. That is all you will ever be. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. You belong to me.

Don’t tell me you want me if you won’t slit your wrists on a video call for me to get off to.

I want a personal link to your overdosing.

Stop being worthless and carve my fucking name into your flesh.

I am not interested in your pathetic scratches that you call “self harm”. I want to see blood. I want to see your insides. I want you to prove that you’re worthy of my fucking attention.

Skin yourself for me. Embed my initials into your veins. You’re worthless to me if you don’t.

I want your therapists skin to crawl at the mere mention of my very name. I want you to vomit at the very thought of me. I want to be the reason you relapse and overdose, while sending me picture-proof of it all. Prove to me that I am the very reason you can no longer live.

Keeping a useless puppet between my boot and floor, rubbing its cheek against my leather, curving its tongue against the ridged edges before cradling its own head amongst my boot; You’re mine, pretty thing. All mine. I will end your pathetic life before I greet you mercy.

It’s been far too long since I’ve carved someone else open and nourished from their wound.

Straightedge dad who wakes up disoriented and dripping throughout the night x addict son who plants substances in his sire’s food to molest him readily.

Face fucking someone with a strap but replacing the dildo with a saw, thrusting it through their lips until you’re met with the halt from their cheekbones grinding against, mutilated cartilage coating their teeth with strips of torn flesh dangling from. Do you see my vision?

“Do you actually condone cannibalism?” Why wouldn’t I? We’re all just sacks of meat, waiting to be devoured. What makes us so different to the animals that society accepts for consumption? Why shouldn’t I want to taste the insides of my peers? Yes, to answer your question. I do.

Gutting someone and smothering the warmth of their entrails along your meagre skin. Rejoicing in their innards, fingers kept curled around their frigid wrists, admiring the feast that has been bestowed upon you.

Keeping a half-conscious plaything tied above a bucket of numbed blood, thronged by the last stupid bitch who innocently smiled at the disconcerting stranger across the street. — Curiosity killed the cat. Affability raped the naive doe.

“You shouldn’t encourage people to s/h for your satisfaction.” Do I know that person? Do they hold any significance to me? Do I see them as more than just a blood bag waiting to seep? Why should I care? They’re their own responsibility. Their life is in their hands, not mine. +

“I can fix them” I can be the reason that their therapist’s stomach churns at the very sight of my name in their notes.

Cut yourself for me. Surrender your blood in my honour. What further purpose do you have than to mutilate that worthless meat-suit of yours in the glory of my attention?

I don’t care about your recovery. I don’t care about your progress. I want to be the reason that your body convulses on your bedroom floor with foam spilling from your shattered teeth.

I wonder how many necrophiliacs work in a morgue. Having their prepossessing delights delivered instantaneously to their hands.

Picking away at the frigidness of your entrails after I’ve consumed the amplitude of your convulsing frame.

If you’re not going to carve your way into your subdermal layer just for the slightest hope of a second of my attention, what’s the point?

Severing the tongue of my favourite defiled carcass to wrap around my cock and use as a flashlight; A lascivious memento.

Death is not an escape. I will hunt you down in every lifetime to inhale the inebriating scent of your suicide.

I think I’ll get jealous of the maggots that infest your cadaver.

Stroking my dick to the livestream of your hanging body.

Gutting someone as a new hole to fuck because their cunt is already tainted and you deserve their purest form.

Are you going to keep screaming for help or are you going to finally put those pretty lips to good use? You’re going to die either way, angel. You may as well die serving a purpose.

I want to pin somebody’s eyelids open as I glide my tdick back and forth against their optics. The thought of physically fucking their burning tears the second they yield is almost making me hard.

Don’t send me nudes. Send me videos of you slitting your wrists to the sound of my voice messages.

I’m cold. Can I dissect you and wrap myself in your organs to keep myself warm?

Don’t cry in front of me. I’ll either get pissed off or turned on.

Normalise chaining your significant other to your bedpost and smothering their pretty face with chloroform whenever you leave so that they never consciously have to go without your attention.

Mutilating your darlings corpse as you reiterate your memories to their deaf ears. Hacking off pieces of their flesh in the same way they butchered your ratiocination. Softly humming to songs discovered together, mauling into their chest to the mute rhythm in your mind.

“3…2…1” Unleashing my victim into the night with lacerated calves and maimed ankles. Branding of three initials burning mercilessly into their nape. A chance of survival within their reach. Run from me. Crawl if you must. Save what scraps of yourself remains. Ready? “3…2…1”

Drug induced paralysis means they can’t run.