I'm utterly addicted to the taste of blood.
All of a sudden, usually at night, this wave of desire will sweep through my body - I can actually feel it, pulsing through my skin - and as if in a dream, I'll find myself searching for an unscarred bit of skin, eaasily accessible to the lips.
In these raw, weird moments, I can always hear two voices clearly in my head. One telling me to stop: you don't need this, what are you doing, it's only short-lived. The other urging me on, telling me how I need it, reminding me of the taste, of the satisfaction.
But I love the taste. I feel as if I cannot live without it.
The taste numbs the pain.