I like sharp things. Chainsaws, razor blades, knives, any metal objects of a sharpend nature. I take pleasure in your pain. Live to die, and hate to live. Mercy finds no home with me. Toture is the path and suffering is the way. No hope as you fall at my feet, a puddle of blood before my eyes, I watch you weep. Scream for me before I let you drain away, a life once lost. No chance for the living as the dead rise once again. I am the ghost that lives inside you, a Ghost in the Flesh.
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