/ic/ - Artwork/Critique

My rage, while contained, is greater than ever, and rather than wanting to bash in the skull of other humans, I now want to tear their flesh asunder with my jaws and claw out their eyes. I hide it behind a mask of normalcy and dry amusement, but there’s less and less human ‘warmth’ within me with each passing day. I don’t seem to feel as much compassion as before.

My art is improving, not as fast as I’d like it to. Strange that the human emotions which make art are slowly being drained from me. Lust is the only thing I can consistently channel, and even that ebbs and flows with my moodiness.