metaphor

the blood is long gone.. leaving behind an ugly white mark.. a revoltingly repulsive spot, which incessantly goes on reminding about that sharp jab of pain.. and the everlasting gradual dull throbbing.. akin of a desperation to go past all the shackled confinement.. only this time in the physical form of the epidermal layer..

but now.. its all gone.. and it has left the ugly white mark as a souvenir.. a remembrance of all the metaphors of a prisoner..

and now i cant decide which is bad.. or which was good.. or, more like, which is the worst..

• the blood that was, in all its glistening hue, gliding effortlessly gracefully along the defined lines..(?)
• the blood that gave up to the shackling confinement, and thus turned on to a defiant black of protest..(?)
• the blood that's no more..just the white hollow that is left behind..(?)