Wealth Addicted @WealthAddicted

addicted to the rush, addicted to the climb, addicted to turning pain into profit, loss into leverage.

i don’t want riches to shine—I want them to shield, to protect, to silence every voice that once told me i’d be nothing.

every cent is a scar, every dollar is proof that i bled, that i fought, that i never stopped.

grinding until the bones ache, until the mind fractures, because the alternative is worse—silence, stillness, poverty.

chasing wealth is chasing ghosts, because the moment you think you’ve caught it, it’s already gone.

some people chase love, i chase freedom, and money is the only path i know to reach it.

wealth is a hunger that eats from the inside, leaves you empty even as your pockets grow full.

every deposit feels like revenge, every withdrawal feels like betrayal, and still i can’t stop.

money doesn’t buy happiness, but it buys the absence of misery, and that’s close enough for me.

addicted to the vision, addicted to the possibility, addicted to the silence of knowing i don’t owe anyone anything.

they say money changes you, but poverty destroys you, and i’d rather be changed than erased.

every win feels small, every loss feels fatal, because wealth doesn’t heal—it just demands another sacrifice.

success is addictive, but the fear of failure is stronger, and that’s what keeps me chained to the chase.

every late night feels like a sacrifice, every early morning like an offering, and still wealth demands more, more, more.

the grind is brutal, but poverty is worse, and i’d rather bleed chasing wealth than rot waiting for scraps.

chasing money is chasing freedom, chasing dignity, chasing the right to wake up without fear—and i’ll never stop running.

i work like i’m broke, grind like i’m starving, because the moment i get comfortable, the world will remind me that comfort is a trap.

wealth is the only addiction the world respects, the only hunger people envy instead of pity, and i can’t stop feeding it.

when you grow up with nothing, money isn’t a desire—it’s a weapon, a shield, a way to carve your name into stone so it can’t be erased.

addicted to stacking, addicted to winning, addicted to proving that every scar i carry will be paid back in bills that don’t fold.