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Young Writers Society


Addicted



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37 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 915
Reviews: 37
Thu Jan 19, 2012 12:03 am
LukanRinta says...



You're only my drug,
but I'm heavily addicted.
This insanity; this love
is not what I predicted.

Like a hopeless drunkard
yearning for wine.
I'm dying of thirst,
and you are my brine.

Withdrawal befalls
when we say goodbye.
The symptoms are my loneliness
and the tears that I cry.

What we have is magic.
Boy, you make me fly.
And everytime I'm with you
it's like a brand new high.

I just have one question.
Whatever did you do;
how did you make me
fall in love with you?
"She looks to the stars and wishes upon one; then waits for love at the next rising sun" <3
  





User avatar
125 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 6975
Reviews: 125
Thu Jan 26, 2012 3:04 am
silentwords says...



This was a well written poem. It had a very nice flow and rhythm to it. I enjoyed the rhyming, and none of it seemed forced. I was just being carried through it. You had a nice use of figurative language in here as well. The only thing about this poem, is that the idea behind it is kind of cliche and overused. I still think that you manged to make it unique and your own, but this is the only thing that is holding your poem back. It reminds me of something that I have read or heard before. However, I did enjoy it and you do have talent (:
One nit-pick:
how did you make me,
fall in love with you?
I would just add in a comma, to help the flow.
Also, I felt like this line interrupted the rhythm:
Withdrawal befalls

Overall, this was a nice poem and I liked it. Pm if you have any questions!
I'd like to think I'm creative... instead of just plain weird ;D
  








It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien