As he watched the skin slowly peel from the bones,
he remembered his childhood.
Memories of scraping his knees
and being fascinated with the blood
dripping down his leg.
All the times he carefully burned
each leg off a spider
and studied it closely
as it died painfully.
The first birds squawks
as he plucked out each feather individually
then cut it open to see it's lungs
slowly stop taking breaths.
Practically in awe.
But it wasn't enough.
Now
As the man lays,
barely alive and severely broken,
on his basement floor,
he feels some extreme level of pride
that he's never felt before.
It's like...
The more death he can create in the world
The more alive he can make himself feel.