It has been six weeks since I’ve been able to take another life. I’m writing this in a brief moment of lucidity between fits brought on by exhaustion and craving. I see him everywhere. Daniel Westburn is the monster of nightmares.
Nightmares I don’t even have anymore, replaced with lucid dreams of chewing and climaxing, chewing and climaxing. It doesn’t stop. It never stops. I haven’t slept in what feels like months. Every time I turn around he’s there watching me. Waiting for me to do what once came so naturally to me. But my dreams have gone far beyond fantasy.
I can taste it. I can smell it; I can hear it pumping through every single person that I touch. Blood. So thick; so anxious for my tongue that it calls out to me in all my waking hours. It has seeped through the walls of my subconscious into my waking nightmare. It’s too strong, beyond anything I could control.
My blade needs to taste flesh. Warm and weak in my hands. I stop myself every time but it’s becoming too much. The dreams I’ve had about gutting James are all to frequent.
Last night he slept on the couch.
I found him with my blade anyways.
I’ve considered turning the blade on myself just to find some relief. To plunge the blade into my ribcage and slice upward just enough that I can reach in, clutch my still beating heart, and squeeze until all I taste, smell, and see is blood.
Finally, sweet relief.
But I’m not quite there yet.
I fear something wonderfully horrible may happen if I do not find my release soon.
As always, dear readers,