Surely it's not sane to want to hurt you,
Because I was lucky to catch you at all,
And you're so comfortingly normal
In your little habits and happy smiles.

And yet I must admit that I have fantasies,
Much different than the normal kind, you see,
Which revolve around the pristine whiteness
Of your skin being struck into a blushing pink,
And the smooth silkiness of your skinny back
Being corrupted into a canvas that is covered
With a masterpiece of distorted grotesque art
Consisting entirely of long, dark red lines,
Dotted with black dried spots of blood that I
Have bestowed upon you with my love for you.

Is it really unusual for me to dwell upon this,
Because if it is, I will try to change my mind,
And instead focus my perverse dreams on
Everything normal and tame, like kissing you
And stroking you, and touching your hair,
And leaving your skin ugly and perfect as it is,
And abandoning the idea of slicing into you
With the proof of my adoration.

If it is, I will try to control myself when I see you,
And I will force myself not to think these things,
Like what your voice would sound like
When screaming in agony and torture.
But really, anything less than that wouldn't be
Nearly as interesting...

Don't you agree...?