Potential Dismemberments

I never craved the taste of raw flesh until that Soilwork concert in Croatia. That entire summer I drowned my urges beneath my subconscious, but when she and I were out in that gigantic crowd; embracing the pulverizing energy on display I couldn’t help myself.

We danced, we grinded body-on-body, but when she turned to kiss me on the cheek goodnight I lunged for the back part of her neck, bit oh so delectably in and tore out her life. I gnawed on her beefy torso chunk, sucking down the bitter-tasting life-force while she slumped downward through my arms.

She stopped clawing at me once her head met my chest and her arms spiraled down my own like raindrops downside a windshield. For several minutes I stared at her lifeless body, and it no longer interested me. My attention could focus only on the jumping, breathing, heart-beating bodies that remained, which made my stomach churn; not because it hungered but rather because it was full, it was pleased.

I never looked into anyone else’s eyes in the crowd afterwards because I didn’t want to remember any potential dismemberments; I only wanted to taste them.