Metaphorical

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A metaphor

Submitted: November 09, 2011

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Submitted: November 09, 2011

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My mind is a jangling sphere of rusty discarded metal consisting of sharp bends and jaded brittle endings. Teeming of impurities, unorthodox alloys, fault lines, and wear. Home to a handful of resiliently adaptive parasitic organisms.  Volatile chemicals churn, acids erode, viscous liquids continually solidify and grind to powdery dust, to settle to a thin spread pestilence over the entirety of the landscape.

A transforming horizon of the barren wasteland constantly changes. Volcanoes emerge and erupt, chemicals churn on in their lifeless borrowing. Vast mushrooms creeps slowly from a distance, shrouding all with intoxicating darkness, time is lost.

The darkness is as a being, with body and mind, it speaks to me. With not a splinter of light, how can't I not listen. The blackness is crisped. Distilled shadows darken, light is all but forgot. Faith resists as I grope the darkness blind. The glaring answers fall short of questions and confusion swirls the lands to a tsunami. Forever passes. In the distance a shadow's darkness contracts my thoughts to a blinding light, the repressed truths in the distance gravitates me towards the singularity. I'm inched towards the edge. A pit, black as hell, I have become.


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