Beast and Sheep

Before you plunge into reading this you should be warned it is raw, emotional and could trigger some. There you have been duly warned…

God are you fucking kidding me, it is total bullshit feeling like this. Fucking piece of shit society tells me what rages in my mind and blood is wrong. Genetics, evolution, whatever the fuck it is; the real question is why is it? Sure I can fit in, play chameleon or try to cut out the most powerful part of me. Blending only works so well for so long. Always that itch, the scratching in the back of my head. Fucking hell it’s like trying to run from death, being a part of the wolf pack being haunted by what is my nature. You either get it or you don’t.

Lick the blade and feel that sharp edge craving a taste of blood. Clip it to the hip and walk out into the world. Prey everywhere, flesh flashing like a never-ending parade all but begging to be hunted. The beast kicking the cage as tits and ass flash. That scent of the bitches in heat like a drug fires up the carnal carnival need. Screaming inside while calm and cool outside, the mind racing, resolve bracing against the beast that slams against the door over and over again. Now I scream inside, not for a lack of want but for a need to be hidden in the mass of sheep. A blood thirst wolf can only be kept starved for so long before it rips the throat from its prey. Feeding as the flock looks on in horror.

Monster they scream, beast that should be locked away or destroyed. FUCK YOU! Deny what you are inside, a land of mentally castrated predators. Ignore that itch, turn away as you feel the twitch. COWARD! PUSSY! FUCKING BALLLESS SHEEP! I tried, the gods know I’ve tried. Repression, ignoring, hiding it deep inside behind a mask of the socially acceptable smile. Hell cannot be walled up, fate will prevail and roll over the land in a wave. A metropolis of blood washed streets filled with screams. Flesh is a fleeting thing, mere food for the worms that wait with hungry maws craving more and more. Death is such a hollow thing, it is the fear, agony and pain that give true flavor to life. Being a master of them, to bring each in full furry is a god power. Oh the desire to walk as a god amongst the mass of fearful sheep. To devour what is there to take. It is not simple to maintain the level, to hold the power, It is pure force of will and the ability to command it. No more anxiety holding back for the so called social norms.

For thousands of years life has been a primal struggle. Fang, flesh and blood splattering the world in a crimson paint that is far more pure than this anemic pathetic existence. An existence that is now held in some desperate need to seem normal, slave to the system we created. Slave to a piece of paper that is giving an arbitrary value. For that people are made into a cogs to work the vast machine of socially acceptable work. Once broken  they are tossed aside and forgotten. Life is nothing more than a farce now. Mental health is from the lack of struggle and pain. WAKE UP! Madness you say? I dare you to sit in a wall of isolated “normalcy” existing to only repeat the same task the next day. Safe with no struggle, just day after day in that routine. That is madness.

Sickness has crept in and infected this society. Safety to the point we have shattered our purpose. Freedom and adventure traded for security. Anarchy whispered like a bad word, no sheep, it is the purest form of reality. Safety and control are an illusion you pathetic Eloi. The dark scares you because you have lost your purpose. The darkness is home and a place of serenity for me. Only when the animal side is loose do I truly feel alive. No regret, no apologies for doing what is natural.

The only way to stop this is to stop the beating of this feral heart. Dare you to try, come and see if you can. Feel the rush, touch the edge of godhood, if you have the fortitude. Once a taste had touch the lips it becomes a craving, the beast is awakened.

Crazy? Hardly, just an awakening to the reality of the primal nature. The flesh is there for the thrill of the hunt. The hunt fuel for the beast that needs to feed.

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