This is not a Metaphor


It’s like making love to a new lover for the first time, with the tears from the previous still falling behind my eyes.

It’s like the edge of a dangerous precipice.  Like one breath and I’m free falling into the abyss.

It’s like photophobia.  Like blindness with fully functioning eyes.  It’s a seeing pain.  It’s an illogical logical truth.  It’s hidden and it’s seen.  It is visible, yet not visible.

It’s like a cruel fairytale without a happy ending.  It’s like I make sense, but the world does not sense me.

It’s like a primal ache in my abdomen and groin.  And I ache not knowing if ever I will feel relief. And I ache to feel relief.  I ache.

It’s like being forsaken by God’s Holy Fire of Forgiveness.  It’s an ambivalent attitude toward our Divininity.  Because I can not reach you.

You wear your bubble with pride.

I do not know if you consciously know, so I will tell you so you do consciously know.

You are on my threshold. Right on it, like a master of ceremonies.  This is not a metaphor.

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