Don't run with scissors they say, as if this is good advice. As if scissors need special attention. Unlike knives, saws, guns, and other things, as if scissors in particular thirst for the run. For the blood that comes from the run... And they do.
Anyone who has held a pair of scissors knows, feels their desire, their need. cosmic energy that flows from the scissors to the wielder.
Run. Run with me. Run faster then satan could ever see...
The scissors always whisper. Dark images of running, sprinting, falling, spurts of blood from eyes and necks. The terror of the reason why you shouldn't... but...
Run... run with me... feel the wind and the freedom... the danger makes it delicious, a taste you can savor...
The scissors whisper, you know it's wrong, well all know its wrong, and yet... I have run with scissors, wild and free. I have run with them through the streets, hollering primal obscenities to the gods themselves.
Just once. Long ago... but i still hear the call. Deeper then the lust for sex. More instinctual then the need for food. More honest then the thirst for water...
Run, run with me...
It haunts me still. As it haunts each of us. Haunts us every night, when the moon is full and glistening with the lies of their dreams.
Or maybe just me.
Gianni
RIP
Seduced by the ultimate temptation.
Emptygoddess
How'd you type that then?