The Carnage of My Dreams

As I lay in bed, my mind begins to wander to the countless ways I’d like to dismember the beautiful people who think they’re better than me. My lover in my dreams, a grotesque creature with a face like mine, is always by my side, egging me on. We’re a team, a duo of destruction, and our victims are the epitome of everything I despise. I see their faces, their perfect features, their mocking smiles, and my anger boils over. I can almost smell the stench of their blood, the sound of their screams still echoing in my mind. It’s a cruel game we play, a twisted dance of violence and retribution.

My fingers twitch with anticipation as I imagine the feel of my hammer in my hand, the weight of it, the power it gives me. I’ve always been a master of my craft, a virtuoso of violence, and my dreams are no exception. I see myself walking through a crowded street, my hammer at the ready, my lover by my side, and the beautiful people cowering in fear. It’s a beautiful sight, a symphony of terror, and I’m the conductor, the maestro of mayhem. My mind is a twisted playground, a never-ending cycle of violence and bloodlust, and I’m the star of the show.

But it’s not just the beautiful people who suffer in my dreams. It’s also the ones who think they can change me, who think they can fix me. My mother, with her cruel words and her condescending smile, is always there, always trying to break me, to make me feel small and insignificant. But I’m not small, I’m not insignificant. I’m a force of nature, a hurricane of fury, and I’ll never be silenced. My dreams are a reflection of my reality, a never-ending cycle of violence and retribution, and I’m the queen of it all.