Death Cures All Ills. Well, Most Of

He Made A Small Sigh, As He Swallowed The First Blood, Then His Mouth Closed Over My Earlobe, Mouth Working At The Wound, Tongue Coaxing Blood From The Wound. He Pressed His Body The Length Of Mine, One Hand Cupping My Turned Head, The Other Playing Down The Line Of My Body. Maybe It Was Just Blood, But I Never Stroked My Steak While Eating It.

Why Was So Much Evil Pleasant, Pretty On The Outside, Like Poisoned Candy?

The Pain Of That First Lost Was Still Raw. You Could Deal With It, Endure It, But Never Escape It.

Anyone Who Tells You Size Doesn't Matter Has Been Seeing Too Many Small Knives.

One Serial Killer Sends Me A Human Head In A Box, And I Get All Spooked; Go Figure.