Yes, I am an actual psychopath. I have blended in my entire life. I have perfected the art now, my laugh disarms, my smile invites my presence reassures yet I am genetically programmed to view you as worthless as a loose thread on a cheap sweater. I want to make it abundantly clear, I don’t care about your pleasure, your pain, or your next breath. I would love to crush the air out of your ribcage with an embrace and watch you panic, plead and offer your body to me like the slut you are with the tiny bit of air still in your lungs, As if I wasn’t going to take it from you regardless.
You’re not here to be understood or loved. You’re here to be gazed upon by my vacant blue eyes and not see a reflection of yourself in return.
The very thought of manipulating and breaking someone like you, of bending you, twisting you into exactly what I want makes my pulse steady, my breathing slow, pupils dilate. I feel as I’m an animal, nearly salivating as I watch you crawl towards me longing for a purpose.
You think you want someone who sees you, someone who can strip away your walls and leave you trembling. But the truth is, you have as much value to me as the dust on top of a door frame. You don’t know what you’re asking for. You’ll find out, though. I want to take everything you’re clinging to and burn it down. When I show you I am only capable of recognizing you as a warm place to rest my cock.
You want to feel small, helpless, destroyed, worthless? Good. I will leave fingerprints on your mind you’ll never scrub away, and every time you look at yourself, you’ll remember what I took from you.
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