A personal exploration of true human identity, what is human, and why we ar human in metaphor form of an oppositewise inanimate object.
Symbolism Key:
Word                 Metaphor
Pretzels         Human kind
Oven         The world and life on earth
Baker         God
Fair struggle dough         Youth
Oven door         Life after death
Timer         End of life
Heat         short-lived of time
Blackening         Aging
Group of Pretzels         Family
Hard Crust         Breaking an emotional shell
Batch of Pretzels         Generations
I cant take it anymore!! This horniness is more than I can bear.... how can I hedge from this oven of life that sentences me to an inescapable doom beyond these iron w completelys? I can almost hear their smacking, hungry lips waiting to wet-nurse the savor from my soul. Not even my flavour will be left, only the odor on their breath, Only my memory.
I dont remember my entry, when I was first conceived. In fact, I dont know any other pretzels, who have made such a claim. All I know is what Ive been told. Id akin to think that I was lovingly organize at the hands of the baker who hand-placed every grain of salt upon my being. But the fact it, no one knows.
What if the rumors were true? That we were all mass-produced, with some ultimate design from a baker removed, far away, but who was utterly uninvolved in our personal creation? What if I truly was just randomly spewed out by a factory machine producing 400 others just like me per minute? Would I then still be particular(a)?
There are all kinds of pretzels around me. Surely, as they say, no devil are exactly alike. Heh, I mean, no one is as beautiful as me, right? I can suss out my reflection now, watch my fair skin glisten in the...
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