Only In Metaphor...
2003-09-02 @ 6:49 p.m.


Pulled back your socks, striped with lines of black and pink, peeled off this wooly skin, exoriate. Sordid affairs took place here, as you peeled your skin from the flesh. Pink flesh.

You winced at the shock of pain that rushed up your leg, up your body, and started your eyes watering. You eyes watered, and the salt tears overflowed. They ran down your cheeks, now pink and stained, pink like the socks, pink like the flesh, and fell onto this self-made wound. It stung.

You're skinning yourself alive, but you're loving every minute of it. No longer are you confined by this skin that was thrust upon you. No longer are you confined by this skin that limits you. Striking down at limitations, you peel.

...and peel, and peel, and peel.

You've broken free from the confines of your skin. Pink-fleshed, wincing, stinging, you're free.

Free of...

Free from...

Nothing.

Only in metaphor do you break free, only in metaphor.

____________

Listening to: "Combat Rock" by Sleater-Kinney

<<before - after>>

The Weather Underground - 2008-11-12
- - 2008-05-06
She knows I can read. - 2008-05-06
William Jacobson - 2008-05-02
Lost Boys - 2008-04-30



everything © Claudia (2003-2008)