The Taste Catching Hold (Part 1)

Here it is, the taste lingers pulling at my core, gnawing at that spot behind my ear. “How will I act?” rampages through my mind splintering everything in its path. The beast is in a frenzy in my mind battering itself on its cage, I don’t think anything short of death will satisfy it (as usual). My tongue runs across my teeth absentmindedly, craving the fluid running hot, down my chest. The scent of your flesh is clawing into my brain, slowly cutting into the cage, trying to urge me out of my rest, my sabbatical, desiring my tearing of your flesh as much as I wish to seditiously bite through the tender skin of your neck and soak myself in the life empowering elixir that flows from your veins, stinging my eyes as I gorge myself languishly on that crimson liquid with it’s thick viscosity filling my stomach. A bar snaps from all the pressure coming at it from so many sides. I am free and my blood starts to burn, hair trying to rip out of my neck. I flex my claws feeling the rush coursing through my body, my sight sharpens, and narrows marking you as my target, my thirst quenching piece of flesh that I shall carve like a turkey dinner with my flesh fiending finger blades, and as I enjoy licking the remnants of you caught on my “curved daggers” my body shakes with anticipation for the rest of you like a dope fiend needing that next fix.