I Destroy

turtleneck shorts dresslink dr martens fall
Shorts (Dresslink) | Shoes (Dr Martens)

I'm pretending it's fall. We don't get fall here, obviously, but I love fall fashion, and who cares if it's 32*C outside? I'll wear a turtleneck anyway. My shorts are from Dresslink, if you remember it in my Dresslink wishlist. Lightweight, slightly shorter than I'd like it yet still chic, I think the piece is perfect for that summer autumn dupe. 

I'm letting this post flow a bit differently today. Keep on reading if you'd like a dose of personal reflections in the form of over utilized metaphors and similes.

turtleneck shorts dresslink dr martens fall
turtleneck shorts dresslink dr martens fall

I like to say I'm feeling like a half-baked chocolate cake right about now (no, not THAT kind). I feel pretty damn good about myself (because chocolate always feels good about itself) but I'm not quite there yet. There is an anomaly in the oven, perhaps, or a mistake in the ingredients of the cake, but it's runny and it's slightly nauseating. The oven might even blow up and chunks of cake batter might destroy the kitchen.

Yeah, I'd say that's a pretty accurate analogy to how I'm feeling.

I also like to say I'm feeling like a broken vinyl being scratched at on a turntable. Pleasant music exists, but the tune is masked by white noise and backspins, maybe because there was an error when the vinyl was inserted, or maybe because it was manufactured deformed. Maybe the record will keep on spinning and deafen those who hear it. Maybe it'll be ripped to shreds by the needle.

That's pretty accurate, too.

turtleneck shorts dresslink dr martens fall

turtleneck shorts dresslink dr martens fall

Or maybe I'm a hunched hermit. A hunched hermit living in the cavern that is my mind, a dilapidated hollow made of tightly coiled reflections. Back bent from hiding too long in the corners, armed with sharpened rocks the size of spears and blunt stones -- hammers -- I crouch in the dark, a spring in my sole ready to release at the first stir of disturbance. It don't matter who, it don't matter when, it don't matter what. I strike when threat looms or when the feeling of threat is present. Survival lives within me, one with my beating blackened heart.

I knock out some of the creatures that step into the abyss where I hide. Knock them cold out, hails of knives shooting like tentacles springing from the cold depths of the underworld. They fall to the ground like ragdolls, slumping into an ugly heap, tongues lolling, eyes rolling, hearts unfolding. I break bones, I crack ribs, I destroy.

turtleneck shorts dresslink dr martens fall

turtleneck shorts dresslink dr martens fall

A white stallion soon blazes in, mane the color of brilliant quartz. It neighs. The remains of the sound rings through the cavern and I feel the coils unwinding. My den is disintegrating, shriveling away like falling dominoes. The stallion whinnies and parades around, head held high, a glint in its eye.

I crouch. There is a surge of hostility that rushes through my blood veins, like water in a sewer during a storm, rat infested, polluted. Gripping a spear and examining no further, I throw it right at the animal who bellows once hit. It tumbles as its right hoof gives way. I don't look back at the crumbling fool. I run.

I run, I run, I run.

The stallion chases.

I keep running. I feel my back begin to crack and, as if a dozen doves are lifting off a weight that has been hunching me down, I straighten. I feel a tingle but all I do is run. All I do is attack. I feel my bare feet bleed as jagged stones pierce and tear my soles, but I keep running anyway. I run up a hill. Run. Throw. Bleed. Run. Run. Breathe. Run. STOP.

I nearly fling myself off the edge. I twist my tattered feet and slam to a halt. I hear the stallion slow to a stop behind me and I spin around.

It looks at me curiously. Splattered with mud yet still radiating, it looks at me with jewels for eyes -- onyx. I snarl and wish to pounce on the pathetic creature, but I feel a weight on my back. It feels elegant, like satin curtains against rose tinted windows. It feels light, like fluffy white clouds drifting through blue. It feels redeeming, like the catch on prison doors opening for the last time.

The stallion watches silently as I discover wings on my back, large and feathered, like a strong-chested eagle's. The hostility returns, breaking down the temporary dam. I slice through the air and shoot one final arrow at the stallion and I spin around and I open my wings and I leap and I breathe and I fly.

I feel the wind hasting through the feathers intricately, a slight rustle the whispering trace of freedom. I fly high and the sun warms my straightened back and I soar and glide and drift.

But I fall, eventually.

The stallion had caught the arrow and had thrown it right back at me. My wings tear off and I fall. I fall like the dying leaves of an autumn tree. I fall like the hopefuls into the hopeless. I fall like mistakes, like misunderstandings, like regrets. I fall into the ocean of thorns, but I don't land.

There is a chain on my ankle. I dangle by the cliff above the spikes. The stallion watches from above, as serene as ever. I notice the chain by its hooves.

We are both bound, but I am doomed.



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