This is a video I made using a poem of mine called “only the good die young.” and also imagery filmed by me.

This video was edited and put together by me.

Images include: my dog, my clock, my coffee cup, my keys, etc.

Staring at the white wall in front of her, Lust sees herself much like the wall, perhaps their lives are even similar.

The wall listens, but does not speak, is present, but goes for the most part, unnoticed.

Blank, empty, and ready to be covered in blood, this wall is more of a mirror than a simple slab of bricks.

A blink signals her return to the real world, a return to the treat that awaited, this was her reward, a sick reward to most, but to Lust it was sheer excitement to be on the job and process according to her own desire.

She crumbles the yogurt box, throws it in the trash and turns on the water.

The water pouring from the sink, starts up a slight twitch in the victim.

Washing your hands before any contact under skin is always indicated. Always. Even if the victim lay above the sink.

Lust enjoyed maintaing a certain cleanliness, although she knew that this future corpse did not need sterile sculpting of any kind.

Gritting her teeth, she begins to dig into the superficial abdomen with the K-24 Fanno hand saw, however this tool appears to be much more rough than Lust had anticipated.

Glistening knives flash through her mind as she half smiles at the whore  in front of her.

“You’ll be fine, my dear, not much difference is there between your plastic surgery endeavors, and this. Also, if you complain about lack of anesthesia, do tell your doctor that I didn’t get the fucking memo in time. That is… if you can tell him.”

Lust stands in front of her knife case, much like Hitler stood affront his army, her knives screamed at her much like his soldiers would scream to him that they would make him most proud.

Well, in that moment, the antique Bowie Knife she had received from her father as a birthday gift seemed to be the one that would make her most proud indeed.

She got elbows deep into the victims torso, the liver hanging upside down off the counter much like a fallen cord phone, the lungs cut into precise 2″ inch cubes set into an oval shape around the head, no reason.

She could feel drops running down her forehead, but they were not of sweat, Lust knew the task would be strenuous and set the air condition to an uncomfortable low, therefore this meant that the drops were of blood.
Warm blood.

Acting on impulse, she allowed herself to loose control, not just physically, but mentally.

She gave in.

She gave in to the instinct, the desire, and the want to cut flesh open.

All humans had it.

She just decided to be smart and make money while doing it.

The victims right leg spasmed as Lust smirked at this thought and continued cutting.

Encountering easy access exits, plans beset their origins and wanderous craftery is settled comfortably in the main area of the right cortex.

Looking into the eyes of the clerk, her thoughts speak:

“I can see your blood splattered all over the wall behind you. Perhaps even your fingers set in
cute patterns.. so on… and so forth.” 

Her mouth gives out a different tune.

“Give me a rum with ice, two napkins, four toothpicks, and the bill.”

Until now, the scan of the room has undergone construction.

If victim number one were to find demise, victim number two would certainly be the young lady
in the corner with the Minute Maid Vodka Mix and plaid blouse.

Three would not even be existent after rage and wrath would rule out possibility.

Perhaps she should have just continued boxing.

On her walk out, a muffled sound of a motorcycle awakens her senses.

A passing image of shine and chrome tickles her fancy.

The male glances slightly as if to not give too much attention to her black high heels.

A lick of the lips, a coffee talk, and three rums later, she straddles the back of the motorcycle and plans the rest of the night settled comfortably in the main area of the left cortex.

A sense of completion grows as realization of the events occurred sink in, many years and hours of planning have come to an end, it is done, bids signed, blasphemous inquiry due to further rendering will cease.

Petting her freshly cut hair, a small smile creeps causing light wrinkles that will never truly show to make their presence.

The mind cannot but fully comprehend the shallow feeling of the love for power, yet so dangerously subdued in her thoughts, she cannot help but be reminded that the end soon awaits.

A call need take place, a task need be finished, never to understand she spares him of her naive belief in love and hopeless possibility.

A true dedication to the one she held dear, he will now and forever be somewhere beautiful, away from the dark and grotesque, the fearful and mundane.

As the first fall of dry leaves in calm autumn, or the mild breeze of winter hitting warm cheeks on a thursday afternoon. Patiently waiting, she sets refusal to high priority.

Material of inexplicable joy, her hand dances to the beautiful sonata carelessly wandering through the walls of imprisonment, a sip of illegal concoction will relieve all tenuous strain.

Ah what a beautiful site a good accomplishment is, Vesalius would be proud, complete de-scripture of the human stomach, a beautiful site ever to be found on the second shelf of cherry wood lines.

Preparing for certain understanding, she misses the dot on the i, and crosses the t with revering charm. The slight raise in her eye brow signals the promise of content, perhaps entitled to opinion, a slight gesture in the hand, superb engineering continues.

Dilated bright red sits precariously up-top a silver utensil, and what a beautiful song to take place in such an event.

An elegant bow, and the still audience remains motionless, these shoes will tap their way to your frontal lobe, numb instillment will run its way to pure finding.

Not to understand, only if known by truth, she sits in the puddle of blue royally touched by oxygen.

Stiffness surrounds her, as her apron drenched in cells shows insanity at its finest, only but a while ago layed the two souls unbound.

Only but a while ago. 

The punching bag no longer a challenge, she bites her lips of excitement, the release of rage is incredible.

She wants it to end classic and raw, the area around her knuckles numb, she tightens her grip around his neck, grasping harder in the eppiglotus area, to be sure it is quick and fierce.

She lets her bottom lip slightly moisten his, her eyes defined by the recently purchased eye liner.

She wants him to see her eyes, to see through them, to see all the way into her brain, to see the nerves fluttering of adrenaline.

Many hours of relentless planning have been sacrificed for this one moment, the need for power?

The hate for previous events?

Perhaps, sexual fantasy?

No.

This picture has a much larger frame.

This was not easy, sweat drips from her forhead, woman against man is never an easy task. But a possible one, in the least.

Not expecting such adrenaline, she is surprised, yet not impressed, this is not as simple as it may seem, a mere taking of a life, this is incomprehensible by many.

The victim? For the sake of sincerity, all that you shall know are his last words:

“I did not want to hurt all those children, it was just something inside me I could not stop.”

Smirking in delight, she lays his lifeless body slightly to the left of the original spot.

For her first victim, she has made many sacrifices.

Buying an old oil lamp from the the thrift store, and placing it strategically next to a couple of very old books that are sure to inflame easily, she pulls out his teeth, they are the only thing that may survive the fire.

She places them in her latest cake recipe, dental delight a la’ lust.

She will take it next door to her neighbor, whom is not allowed to eat food that contains sugar, in this way, she can be sure he will not indulge in it right away.

The news report will sound much like this:

“A house in the east side of town has burned down after an oil lamp was left unattended to, the young woman living there was left unharmed, luckily visiting her neighbor when the fire began. The firefighters have declared that nothing was able to be salvaged. “

What happens next will determine everything, the disposal of the event was easy, the continuance will be the challenge.

A trip to the ocean is needed, and that is not for seashell hunting.