I have a sick obsession with pain. I always try to find different flames to feed my blood to. Bleeding frees me. After so much misery the soul just somehow develops a taste for hurting. The potency of pain flirts so well with the heart when it's despondent. Like a spark of fire in the lonely night. So I go out to the world, searching; for any sublime beauty that's greedy to hurt me. But after all the wounds, deaths and scars, you have always been my favourite to bloodlet to.