Disclaimer: Buffy does not belong to me.

Summary: Buffy is not a happy camper.

Dedication: To whoever reads this.

Distribution: FF.net and Buffy Verse.




Blossom Raw

//




The silver of it gleams in her hand.


Rice paper thin

Raw flesh blossoming

With thickening liquid.

Scarlet pain gently rolling

across the plain

Swelling between pastures

And childish hollows.


Twists.

Hesitates.


Wraps itself over the wasp's nest.

Carving always deeper,

Valleys of tissue

erupting in sequence.


Lies, they are,

Each ruby droplet splashing

towards eternity.

Suspended for seconds,

Breaking then in union.

And there is no truth among them.


And there is no truth when the sky blackens,

And the chilled ruptures lie unmoving in the silence,

And the bloodied rain grows cold.




//end.



I bet you were confused. Need an explanation?

This a portrait of Buffy's depression. Here she is described cutting herself using metonymy. (Figures of speech involving the substitution of one noun for anotherwhich is closely associated with it.) Pain represents blood, the plain her body, etc. The end is the metaphor of her death. The sky blackens. Her body and blood grow cold.