In-Sanity

In-Sanity

There are just too many days when I want to point a gun at people. To watch them react. To watch them cry, or laugh, o snort, or just stare. And when I do not want to point a gun at people I'm wondering whether, if I actually had one, I would dare to pull the trigger.

And the anger eats trough my brains as I try to remind myself that shooting people in the face would be wrong. That it's not ok. But the thought of blood splashing on my face feels so good, so warm. I can almost taste the iron. An isolated scream of a woman or a girl, so scared her throat hurts and tears fall down her face without her even realizing it. I long to hear the sound of flesh being torn apart by a single bullet; the sound of shattered bones; the deafening sound of a gunshot; the distinct scent of gun powder; the hit of the recoil against the palm of my hand and all through my arm up to my shoulder.

My heart starts to race; I can almost feel the blood running though my veins faster and faster. It's not about taking a life. It's not about watching someone's life leave their eyes before you. It's not about control.

It's about that feeling of freedom, of first intentions, of... release. It's about showing people that as easy as we live we can leave; that every second counts. That even the sanest people are capable of something so atrocious and terrible as taking a life is. And it's not about the music you listen to or the movies you watch. It's not what kind of family you have or where you grew up. It’s not about religion or politics. All of us are capable to snap out of our senses and give into our deepest desires. Give into our humanity. Give into our primal instincts. Give into ourselves.

There are just too many days when I want to point a gun at people. To watch them react…

Emily Blame,

November, 28th, 2015.

If you're listening to this... you're the Resistance.-

*End Of Transmission*