Addict

[Ph03nixxxx]

I’m an addict.

What they don’t expect of me is the switch, the thread that could cut it all loose; it’s so taut by now that I’m surprised it hasn’t snapped of its own accord, but then I’ve always been the sort of girl who wants to snap it herself - in the end, anyway. It’s an eventuality. It hasn’t happened yet and I don’t imagine it will happen anytime soon.

But it will happen. I’m waiting for the right moment.

I like the idea of someone wanting to see the deepest, darkest recesses of myself. I’ve hidden for a long time in the sunlight, casting out shadows to distract people and turn their attention away from what’s really there underneath the smiles, the laughter, the warmth. I’m a good person with a fire in her soul, and that fire wants to consume me: I want it to. I want to burn, and with that inferno I want to set everything around me ablaze.

I’m an addict.

What they don’t tell you is that once you allow yourself to actually see what’s beneath the sugary coating you don’t ever really want to go back, you can’t go back. You want to evoke, to create, to cause chaos and rain beautiful disaster down on the people around you - and it’s a gift. The evocation is a gift. You’re a sadomasochist with a taste for the unknown, and that sort of thing will ruin you. You’ll let it ruin you. Because life is short.

Even if you don’t want it to ruin the people around you, it will. Everything rebounds.

I seek out intensity and I seek out pain; I’m a depressive with an over-active imagination and the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. I write and I dream, I whisper and I sigh and the thoughts that whip around my head when it’s dark are slowly destroying every minuscule ounce of sanity I’m still holding onto; I don’t want to be sane. I want to offer you a sweet smile as I make you bleed and I want to make you gasp in ecstasy as you lose yourself in agony. I live to make people smile and I dream to make people fall, and there is no one side to this coin. I am all or nothing.

Yet I spend my life offering only ‘something’.

I’m an addict.

 

In all things, in everything:

I’m an addict.

Edited December 9, 2014 by IvI Ph03nix IvI

[Mokrie Dela]

Not quite sure what to make of this tbh. Very exposition-al

 

Doesn't seem to actually go anywhere, other than being a statement. Still, it's not a badly written piece. Would fit well in a first person story where the protagonist is an addict, and is quite interesting when i think that way.

On it's own, though, it's not the strongest thing I've seen you write (but it's far, far from the worst!), but high five for it anyway

[Ph03nixxxx]

No, it doesn't go anywhere - just the ramblings that come out when it's 3am and I have no one to talk to. *grins* Absolute nonsense is what it is.

[Mokrie Dela]

Fair enough. Nothing wrong with that

[Ziggy455]

I’m an addict.

 

What they don’t expect of me is the switch, the thread that could cut it all loose; it’s so taut by now that I’m surprised it hasn’t snapped of its own accord, but then I’ve always been the sort of girl who wants to snap it herself - in the end, anyway. It’s an eventuality. It hasn’t happened yet and I don’t imagine it will happen anytime soon.

 

But it will happen. I’m waiting for the right moment.

 

I like the idea of someone wanting to see the deepest, darkest recesses of myself. I’ve hidden for a long time in the sunlight, casting out shadows to distract people and turn their attention away from what’s really there underneath the smiles, the laughter, the warmth. I’m a good person with a fire in her soul, and that fire wants to consume me: I want it to. I want to burn, and with that inferno I want to set everything around me ablaze.

 

I’m an addict.

 

What they don’t tell you is that once you allow yourself to actually see what’s beneath the sugary coating you don’t ever really want to go back, you can’t go back. You want to evoke, to create, to cause chaos and rain beautiful disaster down on the people around you - and it’s a gift. The evocation is a gift. You’re a sadomasochist with a taste for the unknown, and that sort of thing will ruin you. You’ll let it ruin you. Because life is short.

 

Even if you don’t want it to ruin the people around you, it will. Everything rebounds.

 

I seek out intensity and I seek out pain; I’m a depressive with an over-active imagination and the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. I write and I dream, I whisper and I sigh and the thoughts that whip around my head when it’s dark are slowly destroying every minuscule ounce of sanity I’m still holding onto; I don’t want to be sane. I want to offer you a sweet smile as I make you bleed and I want to make you gasp in ecstasy as you lose yourself in agony. I live to make people smile and I dream to make people fall, and there is no one side to this coin. I am all or nothing.

 

Yet I spend my life offering only ‘something’.

 

I’m an addict.

 

In all things, in everything:

 

I’m an addict.

 

Considering it’s just rambling of a lonely girl at 3am, I’ll try to not go too deeply into the evisceration of it. I do this in two parts, story and form. I’ll start with the latter.

 

It’s written very well, not much in the way of mistakes, spelling is good and it reads fluidly enough to keep the reader, that’s as much as I can say really.

 

It’s written well. I’d like to see what you can do when there’s some sort of outline to the work.

 

As for the story, I’m seeing the starting of a character—somebody who is addicted to the destruction, or revels in the chaos of what she does. They’re addicted to many things, it’s clear. Yet, it reads like sort of a monologue as if we’re looking at somebody sitting down, explaining this to us. There’s no real plot or event or motion, just a simple explanation of a girl or guy explaining how they see themselves. I’d like to see more, not of this particular thing, but what you could do with some characters and a plot.

[Mokrie Dela]

As for the story, I’m seeing the starting of a character—somebody who is addicted to the destruction, or revels in the chaos of what she does. They’re addicted to many things, it’s clear. Yet, it reads like sort of a monologue as if we’re looking at somebody sitting down, explaining this to us. There’s no real plot or event or motion, just a simple explanation of a girl or guy explaining how they see themselves. I’d like to see more, not of this particular thing, but what you could do with some characters and a plot.

 

 

Saying that, this sort of writing can at least be useful for developing that character for use in a later work....

[Ziggy455]

 

As for the story, I’m seeing the starting of a character—somebody who is addicted to the destruction, or revels in the chaos of what she does. They’re addicted to many things, it’s clear. Yet, it reads like sort of a monologue as if we’re looking at somebody sitting down, explaining this to us. There’s no real plot or event or motion, just a simple explanation of a girl or guy explaining how they see themselves. I’d like to see more, not of this particular thing, but what you could do with some characters and a plot.

 

 

Saying that, this sort of writing can at least be useful for developing that character for use in a later work....

 

 

Definitely. Any sort of monologue or writing about the particular workings of a character can be used for aid in creating the story.