text: An honest smirk crosses his face. He thinks about it for a while to realise it might actually be possible. Just a series of steps arise in the process. But they can be easily executed with careful planning in advance. The night commences and the predator wakes to hunt. In his mind a clear picture of the void he is about to fill. An excitation of joy to satisfy his empty lustful addicition. A release of adrenaline to make his blood boil while his body trembles with excitement. He executes the steps perfectly like no other could. He's a perfectionist at heart he doesnt like people bother him. It makes him violent, want to rip their guts in an all out bloodbath. I digress, focusing his attention back on the target he smirks once again, feeling butterflies in his stomach. A million possibilities. Knife purged to the front of his sleeve ready to split open soft flesh. An anarchist at heart. Controlled chaos. The initial blow resonantes most with his fucked up soul. He feels like a god swimming in the frut of his loin. Sick demons taking over his train of thought. The rest is just a distraction. Distraction from his disfunctional piece of mind. The inability to feel empathy.