Everything seems more focused now. I’ve decided that I have been good too long and its time to go again out on the prowl. When I turn my vision inwardly I see nothing but the reflection of the demon I am becoming. Without that madcap chaos I’m afraid that I can’t pretend for the neighbors anymore.

I watched my hair run down the drain today, felt the hot water hit my bald head. I know that going through the motions of a near forgotten ritual is intoxicating and I have to admit that I haven’t felt this much like myself in a long time. I knew when I decided to keep my monster on a leash that I would have to feed it every now and then but also I would have to let it run once in awhile. I guess it is one of those times because words cannot express the driving longing that I have been experiencing for weeks now.

When I look at myself in the mirror I can almost forget the person that I was pretending to be.

Who am I to deny myself the joy of an experience that I choose to revel in? Why am I bowing to expectations that are made of me?

In the face of my complete, controlled, and constructible annihilation the routine calls me. Who am I to say no?