My sadism is a means to leave an impact on you. I so desire to be a lingering thought you can never get out of your head, a nagging voice that pushes you to be the worst version of yourself. The reason you give in to your worst impulses. Whenever you're looking for a reason to be hurt, needing to feel the sting of pain shoot through you, desiring to feel something, anything but the abject misery you're so used to, think of me.
Think of all the times I dug my fist into your stomach. All the times I kicked you in the ribs. How it felt when I dragged the knife against your skin. How your head floated away while I squeezed your windpipe. Every instinct in your body should have struggled, resisted, tried to push me away but you couldn't. You couldn't resist the relief I gave you by giving you purpose as my punching bag. You couldn't deny that it was the greatest pleasure of your life, having your brain forcibly turned off. Letting all those worried, all the anxiety, all the stress of living your long, pathetic life disappear, even if it was just for a moment under my boot. And you'll spend the rest of your life chasing that feeling again, or whatever scraps of it you can find.
As much fun as it is to slap, punch, kick and cut, the greatest pleasure comes afterwards. From the knowledge that, long after I've moved on to my next victim, you'll never be able to feel what you felt with me. That you'll pine for my attention, even when you're too afraid to grab it. But that fear will inevitably give way to your desires, and I'll find such catharsis in hearing you beg and plead with me to traumatize you all over again.
izzy806
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