Painting

After so many hours of torture, I stepped back to take a look at my artwork. Damn, I'm good. It was the cleanest job I'd ever done, swear to God. The buckets and drainage system caught every single fucking drop of blood.

I couldn't help but smile when I saw his empty eyes. I put that look in his eyes. Or rather, I took away everything else. All that was left were empty little marbles. His body was in pieces, his insides were in a giant bucket at the end of the table.

This was the moment I lived for. The silence of my workroom, the only sound left was the soft drip of the occasional drop of blood into the buckets. Where I look upon my work with satisfaction. Complete satisfaction.

I only knew it was a matter of time before I felt the need to paint again. To cut, to slice, to hear those screams. And to paint.

Until then, I guess it's time to feed the dogs.

Had another nightmare last night, obviously. I couldn't bring myself to go into any more detail than I already have. I woke up gasping for air, it felt like I was drowning in his blood and I couldn't breathe. Every now and then I'll get a glimpse of something dark, a lightning bolt from the back of my head. Some days are worse than others. And some days, it scares me. Other days, it doesn't scare me. I don't know if I should be scared or not.

Today, it scared me.