Words are the most powerful drug known to mankind.

I am an addict.

Logophile.

Word Junkie.

I keep them on notecards, somewhat organized, not really organized at all. On the front covers of notebooks and pieces of paper that I find in my pockets weeks later. The skin of my arm, because if you write on your hands, it's going to wash away too soon. Collections of words and each one of them is beautiful, in its onwn special way. 

Fuck is my favorite word.

First only to every other word ever spoken or thought or carved into a rock, scribbled in sand, painted on canvass. Millions of words, but fuck how I love that particular one. It just feels so good, especially when you say it with some omph, give a character enough drive to really mean it. 

Someone who is like a Mum to me told me that I was going through a 'blue period.'

I believe her.

Lately it's all been rough. 

Words worn to a bloody mess, like sandpaper to skin, but I just can't help it. 

Sometimes, the darkness is far more interesting than the light and writing offers a unique way to experience something without having to actually experience it. Sinking into to something, somewhere, and living someone else's nightmare for a moment. Their daydream. Moments built on pure imagination.

Would be Bluebird is about a drug addict, and I swear on my own head that I've never done any of the substances that eventually kills both characters. I've never beaten anyone up, though I fantasize about it a lot, yet Bite Club is a busted up, broken down clusterfuck of blood and fists and rage. 

All of it peppered with more 'fucks' than you could shake a stick at.

Somewhere, in the debris, there are strings of words, whole entire sentences that hit from nowhere and are beautiful enough to make me cry. To make my fingers hurt. That warm soft thing that lives inside of you, up against you spine and throbs in time to your heat beat, gets flustered and fidgety and downright fucking elated. 

LOOK at that beauty of a sentence. Goddamn, that thing is magic. 

I could go crazy, stumbling over every attempt to perfect paragraphs.