I dreamed a dream of a dead pigeon, head ripped from body, with irises of surprise. Heaven.

I can smell meat, and I can see bone.

The streets of London are cold. Meatsacks huddle and laugh. Waiting for one to stray from the path. A warm bed of flesh and hair.

I have made a nest in santas arsemeat and am piloting him into peoples houses. All the adults and children love the redfaced man. Meeeow.

I am eating Andy Gibson 💭's cheese. It's got an interesting texture. (He's still alive because I murdered a cow earlier. Milkblood is good blood.)

I have a need. A base need.

I caught the eye of a tramp the other day.

Aren't we all just bloodsocks? Warm, inviting, bloodsocks? Meeeooow.

Young man. Soft man. Warm man. On platform drinking coffee. Warm coffee, warm man. Choices choices...

Everytime I stretch someone dies.