An old but favorite piece of mine. Options

[TheSilenceInDict...]

I wanted to post this a while back, but better late than never. It was up to that point the most straight-forward piece I had written, and it actually explains my writing towards the end. After finishing it, I later found it to be one of my favorites. I know it's long, but if you're generous enough with your time, I'd appreciate comments. First paragraph might be a tad awkward. I should've just left it out in this post, but oh well. Here it is in it's entirety.
---

...I sometimes sit, huddled in a corner, somewhere along the dark and desolate corners of my tormented mind. My mind is the basement, settled in the house that is my existence - Cold, hard, always filled to the ceiling with the essentials, Accompanied with the occasional excess and smut, stuffed in a box, Sealed with what's left of a conscience. I sit in this basement, Hearing the steady and slow drip from a leaky faucet. Every droplet, A thought. Constant drips, every second, every other second - It cannot be helped. Sometimes the droplets are whole, yet they slowly fall and make impact, dispersing and losing it's tact, form, and meaning. Yet it lies, inanimate, neutral and useless till another of it's kind joins it - And then another, and another, and so on. A small stream then forms, and many of what was lost is now in conjunction with something with texture, meaning, significance - A counter reflecton of it's holder. The faucet leaks, for it is in constant use - with water rushing through, leaving puddles of thoughts, theory, reflection, concept, notion, foundation of necessity. The water, the thoughts, soak up the boxes, leaving my mind dank with demented cogitation. And I sit...watching, hearing water running through or slowly and steadily dripping.

Usually I take a deep breath and sigh, feeling the cold air form into a dissipating cloud. I lean my head back, and let the words, the emotions, rush into me. Mind is now chaos-stricken, everything around me fluttering around, being tossed and swung about. I become the center of a tornado of thoughts. I am now the emotion, the psychosis, the despair, the dementation, yes, the center of thoughts, MY thoughts. THIS is who I am inside...I am an abyss, endlessly fed pain, sorrow, fear, all the evils around me. The hunger cannot be satiated, I can never be filled...I am only to grow more corrupted, vile, cold, twisted, a more purer evil. My heart is constantly heavy with pain, an open flame englufing it, and yet...I enjoy it...each painful pulse, each strike, a reminder of failure. I bask in it's contaminated warmth, as a smile slowly forms on my face.

'Abstract Writing' - As I choose to call it - A momentary outlet, among the few I choose to utilize. Usually it seeps out...the anger cannot be contained for long...I have constructed myself into a tool for my feelings...they can run me, Yet I am in constant conflict, fending it off with words - Flawless expression, perfect aid for patience...the key to winning the battle. Patience...it paves a way for contemplation, to work things out, for outside guidance...patience for inner healing, moral support, and decision before action. I believe I am weak, for I hold very little of the rare attribute... being overwhelmed with so much drives me to feverish action, both spontaneous and ignorant...yet thought and feeling transformed into something tangible, something that can be seen...it allows for negative discharge, freeing me from the emotion that chains me down. Each word, A key to unlocking my own self-awareness and content with life. Unfortunately, many of these keys fall out and find themselves lost, and as I fumble to fit each one , They lie among random spaces in the basement that is my mind, Until I pick each one up for a later abstract piece of self-expression I choose to label as 'Writing'.

And now, I find myself sitting once again in the same corner of my mind, allowing everything to go into me. Absorbing every piece of emotion, with tears streaming down faster than my thoughts, I manage to transform pain into words - Keys in hope of unlocking a better person inside. The lights in this basement are dim, But I can make out what I have just created. Another piece of myself, writing as abstract as the poetry of the mind, the soul. Part confession, part emotional release and expression, yet screwed up all over. I will continue to sit till light breaks through...

[rainnydaiis]

wow one of your best =P love it =P

[TheSilenceInDict...]

Thanks a lot...Haha, I'm glad you actually read it.

[rainnydaiis]

lolz its long but its very interesting =P

[Heathasm]

'Abstract Writing' - As I choose to call it - A momentary outlet, among the few I choose to utilize. Usually it seeps out...the anger cannot be contained for long...I have constructed myself into a tool for my feelings...they can run me, Yet I am in constant conflict, fending it off with words - Flawless expression, perfect aid for patience...the key to winning the battle. Patience...it paves a way for contemplation, to work things out, for outside guidance...patience for inner healing, moral support, and decision before action. I believe I am weak, for I hold very little of the rare attribute... being overwhelmed with so much drives me to feverish action, both spontaneous and ignorant...yet thought and feeling transformed into something tangible, something that can be seen...it allows for negative discharge, freeing me from the emotion that chains me down. Each word, A key to unlocking my own self-awareness and content with life. Unfortunately, many of these keys fall out and find themselves lost, and as I fumble to fit each one , They lie among random spaces in the basement that is my mind, Until I pick each one up for a later abstract piece of self-expression I choose to label as 'Writing'.

we do sort of write alike!
the only critisism i can offer is that you spend so much time explaining things it can get a little boring, try to find words that express all of it in themselves, just to give an idea of what youre trying to say, leaving a little mystery, instead of lapsing into a deep explanation. other than that the details are great and so is the depth :)

[TheSilenceInDict...]

the only critisism i can offer is that you spend so much time explaining things it can get a little boring

That was kinda the point...
I don't usually write so openly and straight-forward.
I know what you mean though, I sometimes like to get into detail (It reflects how I talk as well...)

Thanks for the comments.

[rainnydaiis]

the master.. has been thought something OOOO... heathasm our new master =P lolz

[melface]

I love it I love it I love it!
You should really go into a writing career, I think...

I could never critique your writing... because it's far better than mine. =]

[TheSilenceInDict...]

I get that a lot from other people.

I was in Journalism throughout High School (Editor baby!!!), but I don't know if I want to pursue it as a career. It's an open option for me though.

[rainnydaiis]

go read my story baby =P HAHA

[melface]

did you just call JOE.... BABY?


err he's MINE.

[rainnydaiis]

ok ok T.T im sorry dont kill me!!!

[TheSilenceInDict...]

Awww, you have nothing to worry about, Mel.

I hate how no one will read writing if it's too long, especially mine.

[rainnydaiis]

keke its all good =P i wrote a writing similar to this one.. was kind of a un success +P

[TheSilenceInDict...]

'Un success'?

I like new words, but ones that are gramatically incorrect or aren't amusing irk the living crap out of me. Haha.

It's nothing, I kid.

[rainnydaiis]

unsuccessful =P ionno if thats a word you should try and read it gun point is the name.. i made it weird =P

[TheSilenceInDict...]

[BUMP]

I think the core of that piece is 3rd and 4th paragraph. What do you guys think?

[melface]

I'm going to have to agree

eff the bump... i want to [hump] ;]

[lucky_clover]

awsome work!! it IS your best one actually.

[TheSilenceInDict...]

Thanks, I'm glad that's what you think.

[dreamerOi]

wow i like it.

[TheSilenceInDict...]

I think by cutting out the first half it can be even better...

[Butterface89]

I wanted to post this a while back, but better late than never. It was up to that point the most straight-forward piece I had written, and it actually explains my writing towards the end. After finishing it, I later found it to be one of my favorites. I know it's long, but if you're generous enough with your time, I'd appreciate comments. First paragraph might be a tad awkward. I should've just left it out in this post, but oh well. Here it is in it's entirety.
---

...I sometimes sit, huddled in a corner, somewhere along the dark and desolate corners of my tormented mind. My mind is the basement, settled in the house that is my existence - Cold, hard, always filled to the ceiling with the essentials, Accompanied with the occasional excess and smut, stuffed in a box, Sealed with what's left of a conscience. I sit in this basement, Hearing the steady and slow drip from a leaky faucet. Every droplet, A thought. Constant drips, every second, every other second - It cannot be helped. Sometimes the droplets are whole, yet they slowly fall and make impact, dispersing and losing it's tact, form, and meaning. Yet it lies, inanimate, neutral and useless till another of it's kind joins it - And then another, and another, and so on. A small stream then forms, and many of what was lost is now in conjunction with something with texture, meaning, significance - A counter reflecton of it's holder. The faucet leaks, for it is in constant use - with water rushing through, leaving puddles of thoughts, theory, reflection, concept, notion, foundation of necessity. The water, the thoughts, soak up the boxes, leaving my mind dank with demented cogitation. And I sit...watching, hearing water running through or slowly and steadily dripping.

Usually I take a deep breath and sigh, feeling the cold air form into a dissipating cloud. I lean my head back, and let the words, the emotions, rush into me. Mind is now chaos-stricken, everything around me fluttering around, being tossed and swung about. I become the center of a tornado of thoughts. I am now the emotion, the psychosis, the despair, the dementation, yes, the center of thoughts, MY thoughts. THIS is who I am inside...I am an abyss, endlessly fed pain, sorrow, fear, all the evils around me. The hunger cannot be satiated, I can never be filled...I am only to grow more corrupted, vile, cold, twisted, a more purer evil. My heart is constantly heavy with pain, an open flame englufing it, and yet...I enjoy it...each painful pulse, each strike, a reminder of failure. I bask in it's contaminated warmth, as a smile slowly forms on my face.

'Abstract Writing' - As I choose to call it - A momentary outlet, among the few I choose to utilize. Usually it seeps out...the anger cannot be contained for long...I have constructed myself into a tool for my feelings...they can run me, Yet I am in constant conflict, fending it off with words - Flawless expression, perfect aid for patience...the key to winning the battle. Patience...it paves a way for contemplation, to work things out, for outside guidance...patience for inner healing, moral support, and decision before action. I believe I am weak, for I hold very little of the rare attribute... being overwhelmed with so much drives me to feverish action, both spontaneous and ignorant...yet thought and feeling transformed into something tangible, something that can be seen...it allows for negative discharge, freeing me from the emotion that chains me down. Each word, A key to unlocking my own self-awareness and content with life. Unfortunately, many of these keys fall out and find themselves lost, and as I fumble to fit each one , They lie among random spaces in the basement that is my mind, Until I pick each one up for a later abstract piece of self-expression I choose to label as 'Writing'.

And now, I find myself sitting once again in the same corner of my mind, allowing everything to go into me. Absorbing every piece of emotion, with tears streaming down faster than my thoughts, I manage to transform pain into words - Keys in hope of unlocking a better person inside. The lights in this basement are dim, But I can make out what I have just created. Another piece of myself, writing as abstract as the poetry of the mind, the soul. Part confession, part emotional release and expression, yet screwed up all over. I will continue to sit till light breaks through...

Okay. This sounds more like personal "journal" writing as opposed to something that would be posted for public consumption IMO. Honestly, I stopped reading after the second paragraph because frankly, dripping faucets and "heavy breathing" are not enough to sustain my interest in a "story". When I start to read a piece, I like for there to be a "hook" in the first paragraph, to make me want to read more. A whole paragraph describing thoughts rattling around in someone's head like marbles is just not something that has a point to me.

This sounds like this is your first attempt at writing, meaning that it's very introspective with no real ending in mind...you can write an 800 page book about your mind wandering,or about sitting in a corner, but there is no 'blueprint' to this story, no 'outline'. You don't know your ending, which is why it's going on an on like this.

I don't think many people care to read a story that's got no direction to it because they're investing their time in reading it. There has to be a 'pay-off' for the reader, not just for the writer.

[Butterface89]

Awww, you have nothing to worry about, Mel.

I hate how no one will read writing if it's too long, especially mine.

You hate how no one will read writing if it's too long, especially 'yours'? I know. 5 paragraphs describing dripping faucets and heavy breathing? Why wouldn't they want to sit through that? People can be so selfish sometimes. ha ha.

If you feel that I'm wrong, hit me back:)

[Ekay]

honestly, i really like the comparisons you make about each emotion being a key and how your mind is a basement of a house. it's good.