Writings

Obsessions

A/N: This was last night's creation. It's weird. I'm sorry. But enjoy, I guess. :/ Six pages at 5 AM.... BTW, It may possibly be triggering. Pls be careful when reading. I don't want anyone to get hurt.  ^^My muse....

~Samm ^~^

I have a weird obsession with lava. I want to touch it. I know I can't but I want to. I know that it's dangerous. That's what fuels the obsession. I want to see it for real. I feel the same way about fire. I just want to watch it. Listen to it crackle and spark. I want to see the ash and flecks of paper. The way the flames lap and lick at the air. The way the orange plumes jump with the addition of a log or paper. The heat the flames give off make me happy. It makes me feel on top of the world. I have obsessions with very dangerous things. I obsess over the things that hurt the most. Is that dark? Is that bad? Is it weird that I obsess over things like love, fire and lava? Is it weird that the shimmer of a blade intrigues me? If I have all these questions about death, does that mean I'm afraid of it? I won't touch a lighter. But put me in front of a fire and I'll be mesmerized until it blows out. Even candles attract my interest. I fear of pain but long for the sting. I sob at a needle but beg for a bruise. Something to touch and gain a sting from. Something that will make me hiss and remember the moment. I strive for a scar. Something I can point at to punctuate a story. I pick, bite and pinch at skin to curb anxiety. I absently pick at paint to distract the thoughts. I poke at gums to feed the pain. The sharp strike that, oddly, doesn't hurt. The blood it frees. Once the pain starts, I won't let it end. I poke and prod until it aches. I lust for it, crave it. The metallic taste of blood. I hope for the ache of wisdom. Revel in the spinning of my brain. I won't relieve the pain. I search for the ache of hunger. Or the ache of overeating. Or the ache of eating before bed. The sting of an accidental knife slice, is a thrill. The throb of an accidental curler burn, is a reminder to be careful. To be wary. The hurtful burn of a cracked heart, a fractured soul is torture. The tears fall endlessly. But still I stare at the source of my pain. I can't help but want the hurt. Does the desire for pain make me a bad person? Where does my lust for hurt stem? Would a razor's mark set me right? Would salt in the wounds bring me down? I've always been a klutz. What if that was subconsciously intentional? Does pain ever leave? Is that what I want? Or would more struggle be what I'm craving? Is exhaustion my guide? Do I write my best when tired? Or is it just my luck? Are 6 AM thoughts my only muse?

A/N: Again, this is dark and possibly triggering so, I'm sorry. But these are real thoughts I have.... Okay, I'm done. Bye!

~Samm ^~^