A Life in Metaphor – A Review

I speak analogy. It’s a language I learned, a muscle I developed, a shortcut I take for no reason other than comfort. Years of digesting poetry and listening to too much indie music has made me sick with similes. So much so that my fundamental understanding of most things fall in line with my understanding of something linked only by comparatives such as: like, or like the word as.

But I usually never make metaphors of my life.

It’s strange to me that my obsession with comparison pales in comparison with my obsession with self-analysis. Especially because I find myself wrapped tight like a car-roof Christmas tree inside of my own head.

But now, see, I am lost. I am lost because I have lost. Yesterday feels a lot like failure. Funny how failure can cover you. How it can drape a dark curtain that mostly obscures your sight. Or pull itself around you like a pair of leggings, or tights, just thin enough to hint your skin to the world, but create a layer of darkness between you and everything else.

I want out. Out of this form-fitted sadness, and I fear that I can only see an escape through a sympathetic face, but how could I see anything past this dark frame.

I feel sucked in, like there’s a well of gravity circling inside my head. I feel buried, like a cholera victim whose bell won’t toll. Maybe I didn’t pay the fee. But then again, do I get to keep my wallet when I die?

There’s a lot to a world where the unknown is relegated to relocation. To be pushed from a mind that feels as if it is circling the drain into a prison where I’m trapped and alone.

I too am caged. But my fear is with me. My doubts are with me. My time is with me. I am being eaten by something. Being solitary is suddenly the least of my worries.

I grieve over the things I lost. I grieve over yesterday. I grieve over my mistakes.

My sin, where are you. Will you ever come when you’re called?

How can I ever come to rely on you entirely, like you want, if you won’t let me lie again.

Maybe I’m just too clever for my own good. Maybe wordplay can’t apply to a life without much understanding of work or play.

Decidedly, I am too alone now. But also, in need of an escape.

I’ll bide my time, ration what I have left, and invest in something less sheer. With thinner frames. And a stopper.

First, I guess, I should wash what I have.

It is uplifting to know where to start. Especially to know that it begins in reverse.

I cannot recoup my losses. I can only move forward with what I have. And I have a lot.

But with my possessions comes an unshakeable coldness. A lingering lack of feeling in my feet.

Something, I guess, I just have to manage.

Thanks for reading, I know that might seem a bit dark, but I just had to write.

Have a great weekend.