A Journal To The Sick Fantasies. The Death of Me.

There's times when you get conflicting ideas, opinions and thoughts. Here's the time.


Instead of one. There's 6. 


Its late now, yet I have to vent out the excess steam from my slowly-expanding skull which may explode and shower my desk and room with a ridiculous amount of brain pulp, blood, and the liquid my brain is suspended in.


Hah! I wish that would just happen. Being off dead is easier than having to deal with the rubbish you have to put up with. 


But nooooo! The other part of my thoughts swivel into self-defence mode. 


Death is just an escape from reality, or so it may seem. 


If I'm given the chance to die,
I would. But its gotta be painless though.


Dying in pain would suck, but pain itself does not suck. 

It keeps us sane. 

Keeps us aware of everything revolving around our being.

Making us suffer to understand the meaning of life.

Cruel but true.

So true.

The unrelenting cacophony of cell-murdering thoughts pierce its brothers like blunt daggers through thick hide.

Imagine the pain caused.

Oooh, it feels so good. 

Ooooh..... Ooooh..... Ooooh.....

I won't be surprised if I don't wake up the next morning, and have someone to stumble into my room and discover that I was gone, well not literally.

With the sheets layered with days old blood. 

Mmmph, the smell of the dead and decaying.

Imagine that maggots and many legged-creatures crawling out of my orifices, dripping with gooey decaying matter. Whoaa!

Nocturnal creatures snuggling tight against my chest, digging in closer and closer to me, until they've penetrated the thin skin on my rotting corpse.

Finally, achieving their true intentions. 

To be in me.

To consume me.

To be me.

I love writing and imagining my death. Its the nicest thing I can ever do to anyone, including myself.
However, if you'd like me to describe the way you'd die and the vivid imagery. 

Let me know.

Really. Let me know.

Sadistic Desires