It starts out with a smell, a repugnant smell.
A taste all too familiar that cannot be repressed.
This sulphurous stench reminds me of death, but to know the cause is like grasping at straws.
Every so often, I’m hit with this redolence, but I still can’t put my finger on it.
Years have passed, the scent still it lingers.
As if goading me to acts so deplorable.
As it plumes into a miasma of rot, my stomach turns and vomit ensues.
It’s happened again, last night I can’t recall.
My clothing tattered and torn, filthy and tarnished.
Unknown lesions and bruises cover my limbs and abdomen.
Apprehension sets in, as i scour my wounds.
The underlying doubt of what I have done, reluctant to what I’ve committed.
Back to reality, daily life has resumed.
As for mentality, my mind still consumed.
Grisly and ghastly perceptions infiltrate my conceptions.
My troubled thoughts still haunt even though I try to remain of sound mind.
The hunger it needs the hunter to feed.
The familiar smell that has yet to be identified.
In the cellar I find, dozens of bodies are piled up.
How can i foresee?
Instincts are to dispose the bodies along the coast. (X3)
I must endure composure to dispose.
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