Published August 1, 2012
I crawl under the covers of sadness like cigarette smoke. I pull the fabric over my head and refuse to perceive reality beyond these thick sheets of melancholic comfort that wrap around me as would the spools of carbon clouds expelled from the lips of the black-lunged, as would the intoxicated breath leaking through the mouth of the middle-aged alcoholic, restraining and obscuring clarity, casting off care and company. Impairing and expanding distances that isolate the self from world, fingertip, and consciousness. I am an addict of this aching as I am of the cold. I crave its lonely streets to walk through with thin soles and blistering heels. To feel pain slither through my veins like a biting serpent, whispering “this is what it feels like to be alive” as it sinks deeper through the dark tunnels of my arteries to pierce its fangs into my heart and drink and drain the warm blood from its throbbing ventricles as they wither, until after a few heavy swallows it runs empty and cold, hungry. Though after its feast, the viper does not cease but lingers to inhabit the body as a parasite, killing it more and more everyday. Thirsting disillusioned endorphins I evoke in uprising through tears, fears and mirrors I seek out that drive me further into the depths of sorrow, a wildly rampant drug abundant on abandoned street corners and hospital rooms, reflections, memories, and nightmares. In the heat, the cold, and the dark.
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139,529 Literary Works • 672,599 Reviews
WOW! It was like I was there and was the drug addict. I felt the pierce in my veins just by reading it. I felt like I was under the covers. I felt alone for 5 minutes in your world. It was Holding my attention. Smoldering me. Shooting me until you were done with me. Then I fell flat on the cold road you described. The snakes fangs in my skin. Well enough of that, you have a true talent in description. You make the reader feel your pain or happiness whatever emotion. It's good keep it up. I agree with the other guy who said take more breaks.
Okay, this is beautiful. I would say this is almost like prose poetry or, say, certain stand-alone books by Tim Bowler. It definitely spoke to me and felt sort of heady (see: Apocalypse, Frozen Fire by the aforementioned author). I enjoyed it and reveled in it. Nice work. It drew me in and I would have kept reading, sort of hypnotized, even if this went on for a while, I believe. Certainly, I chose it for how brief it was, but I did get sucked in very quickly. It was almost like I was barreling forward, unable to stop.
In short, I rather got addicted to this.
My only suggestions would be to use quotes correctly and maybe as the piece goes on add more breaks, if you want to keep the reader occupied with the words rather than the feeling. All in all, I believe it worked very well, but you might want to play with those two things.
Anyway, cheers and thank you for making me feel weirdly okay even though I forgot to take my antidepressants.
Oh! And, if you have more stream of conscious work, I'd love to see it. Or any of your other writing. Hit me up.
-Cas
*the description didn't come through....
This is some short stream of consciousness writing I did in the car and is by no means a finished work.
any potential in it?