A Painful Infection: A Poem Analysis

What is it to feel pain? How would one elucidate even an iota of the purest forms of fear: the oozing infection that hides in the anticipation, experience and remembrance of pain? I cannot use the narrow confinements of linguistic tools to fully portray it, unless in the crudest of manners. Even such fundamental tools are incapable of creating an adequate point of reference. It simply lacks the nutrients to effectively satiate the imagination enough to analogues to reality. This is my story. This is the apparatus I will use to construct the complexity of the implications. This is the long list of consequences that better summarizes it than the use of finite literary devices. For the story is not in the words, but in the space between them. …show more content…
They had finally become comfortable around me. They even tried to faintly suggest that it was time for me to treat them like family, not just kind strangers. But I could never do it. Don’t really know what was stopping me. That’s a lie. I don’t enjoy lying; least of all to myself. The complete and utter absence of pain generally brings with it a limited capacity for many other emotional states; fear in particular. This lack of fear materialized what others refer to as ‘a shameful addiction to the blunt truth’. I do not and cannot proclaim an inability for fabrication. I simply admit to the futility of it from my perspective. The blunt truth is that I saw no reason. Not that I say this out of hate, I have yet to grasp such a sensation. To insincerely advocate their desire for me to attach those titles to them, without reason, was beyond me. I would always end up just calling them by their first names. I can’t really say that they didn’t deserve it after what they did for me but, lamentably, I couldn’t help it, it was my …show more content…
It did exactly what I wanted, what I expected. Her Hispanic caramel skin lost color in moments; or gained all colors of the rainbow, it didn’t matter as she was as white as she would have been in either case. True shock is not seeing something you did not think to expect, but witnessing the diversion of what is temporarily considered inevitable. Once you are as familiar as I with reading the impressions on others faces, you will understand the intimate pleasure of causing it. Her breathing stopped for a fraction of a second; don’t ask why I could notice that, not yet. Just know I always have. Her temperature spiked instantly as her heart fluttered with a frenzy of beats. Her face had too many minor changes to describe, taking on an ashen look of disbelief with a hint of disgust. This is why I enjoyed doing this. I could smell, taste, read, feel and hear any emotion motivated by fear. All my senses made the metaphysical concepts