Deliciously grotesque, it brings to mind a sinister scene: you skulk through the woods, an innocent woman's blood staining your hands. You are a charming, charismatic villain, well-dressed and well-educated and well-liked. Everyone knows that you're evil - you couldn't hide it even if you wanted to, and of course you don't - yet they cannot stay away. Infatuated and very curious - for there is something about you that tugs at people's minds and refuses to let go until they satisfy their strange desire to know everything about you - they follow you to their beautiful deaths.

And then, when you have taken all you want and left your bloody handprints on their stunning corpses, you move on, slinking through the woods to the next town, the next tale, the next titillating murder.

Skin.

aged

and wrinkled

Draped around a

mouth, turned down and glum

That matches sorrowful

eyes, tired and framed by creases.

The folded forehead, prominent 

in the absence of a hairline. All

in all, it is a fine tribute to time.

I left my consciousness in the sixth dimension and my skeletons in the closet. I climb out of bed. Unawake and unaware and unable to care anyway, I go on the prowl. My mind rests as my body hunts, thirsting more for the feeling of success than the results. I hunt for sport, not for food, yet I feel sustained, and wake up refreshed, if a bit bloody.