Disclaimer: Sadly, neither Edward nor TWILIGHT are mine...

Intoxicated

I'd rather be an alcoholic. A drug addict. Hooked on heroine or morphine. Whatever it is they do these days. I understand where the junkies are coming from. Pain brings desperation. Desperation brings the need for medicine. Medicine becomes the monster when addiction rears its ugly head. And we're back to the desperation and pain again. It's a vicious, ugly, disgusting cycle. It's a very, very old cycle. I've watched it through its varying phases. Prohibition. Mr. Surgeon General and his cigarettes. That ridiculous "Don't Do Drugs" thing a couple of decades back.

I think now it's something about pot. Whatever.

I'd rather be hooked on every single one of those. Intoxicated, stoned, high... whatever the slang is these days... Any of them... All of them... than to feel this way.

I'd rather destroy my body and mind. I'd rather die a thousand deaths. I'd rather it be slow, painful, mine...

That's the key point there... I'd rather it be my problem. Only my problem. I do my drug and destroy myself. Only me.

Oh, I'm no idiot. I know that it doesn't work that way, even for them. People make attachments, and they will hurt the people they love when they hurt themselves. I've seen that, too, in my long life. But that's not the same. They may be scarred, but they will live.

What I want is different. I feel it pull at my being. I feel the monster scream to be freed. I feel my eyes perceptibly darken, my muscles tense and quiver. My breath catches, and I want one more sweet taste of that scent. One tiny sip of your wine. Only I can't just taste. I've never been one for moderation. And I'm already addicted.

If my heart lived, it would be racing. I would cry, sweat, scream... Alright, I can still scream. I might still scream.

And you need to make it that much worse... you need to package yourself so neatly that I can't even glance inside. Alice whispers to Jasper all the ways his prospective meals are human. You're sitting next to me like a silent drug. You're killing me. Torturing me. I feel like I'm turning again. Like my eyes are burning red and the insanity is taking over. I shiver as the withdrawals start to hit me.

You are my wine.

My heroin.

My weakness.

I hate you.

I have been fighting this for three minutes now. I don't know if either of us will make fifty-two more...

Author's Note: I really wanted to try to write SOMETHING from Edward's POV. Not sure if this came out exactly as I wanted, though. I think I'm losing my touch on reflective pieces. Drat.

Oh well, anyway, thanks for reading. Please review!

Sirius