Oh my god, my heart is still beating like I've done 7
lines of coke and a 5th of Jack Daniels. What a rush, now
i know what hunters go hunting for. I'm alergic to the
great outdoors so I've never been hunting. I guess I've
just inducted myself into the suburban hunting grounds, and
it makes me feel like going pro. She couldn't have been
more then fifteen although she told me she was eighteen.
The lack of pubic hair is always a dead give away. I guess
i don't feel guilty because i didn't plan it, at least not
this time. I was just trying to score some weed. I almost
feel as if I did her a favor. I didn't start molesting her
at age 4, I didn't seel her out at age 8, I'm not the
reason she has every sexually contractable disease known to
man, my god, she had to be suffering, don't you think. I
just put her out of her painful life. SAtop the cycle of
abuse in it's tracks. I only wished I hadn't used one of
my mothers favorate carving knives. And I wish she hadn't
bleed all over that expensive chinness rug I was planning
on selling. The good thing I found it in the garbage and
no one will be able to track it back to me.
You know, once you start slicing it becomes almost an
artistic experience. Like covering your body with paint
and using every part of yourself as the paint brush. It
makes me wish blood came in different colors. Blue, or
even yellow would have made my painting so much more
brighter, and easier on the eye. Oh, that reminds me, her
eyes now dance like a Salvdor Dolly painting in the third
demension. As well as her fingers, three toes, the skin
from her left side of her tush, and both her nipples,
although i don't care for the peireced left one, in memory
of her I let the hoop stay in. I don't think writting and
painting are going to be my only creative outlets anymore.
Ooops, my wifes coming up, I got to go now.