Lily Munster of 1313 Mockingbird Lane sharpens her nail to a fine point to pierce the skin of the victim of intent. Penetration just a might for slight is enough to draw. Debauchery in thought perhaps made to flesh begat always from idea. I have tasted of thee.
My thoughts filled “his” brain an “he” created the actions. Thought to manifestation upon verbiage abstract and nothing more. Bloodlust engulfing thoughts of meager means. Ah, tis but a thought to play within the scope of this fabric I hold close to my heart. Is it I who speaks of this as thus or do I tell a story?
If said story be one of the art of villainy, let us add a swan for the glory. She lies between me and thee and I offer her up not for thee! Nay. My selfish ways are too pervasive, but perhaps that is not seen. I had thought upon myself as an offer to thee, but that would be too easy. Then again, these are just thoughts. The woman before me is but my instrument on which to wage my creative achievement. The puncture and torture for thrill. Shall you feed? Will the contorted figure provide your will with energy? Will it drive you mad? What perversions may I hold that you may not see the magnitude or scope of? Alas it lies in time, but what is time when you understand it not? Depravity is as sweet as death! Sniff the sweetness of the fallen corpse.
DeSade provides many interesting scenarios in which one could open a portal into another zone of decay or dismay for another, but what say you to another wishing it so? Is silent consent a factor for consideration? It would seem that it plays quite well at the moment. Is it I who speaks of this as thus or do I tell a story? ~ Maggie ~ January 21, 2009 @ 8:13 p.m. EST
Who is to say what is what and what has been and where. Tis only I that knows for where and there I leave it square. Adieu! *wink
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