What are some good similes for pain?
Alright. Alright, I’ll provide it a shot, but I’m going to slip some metaphors in the mix. If you see one you wish to update to a simile, try it – but I wager you see why I left it as a metaphor.
Some excellent similes for discomfort. I’m just going to run with it. A few of these will be winceworthy, no doubt.
- His tooth sang out like a quiet alarm – steadily growing in volume.
- His aggrieved balls grieved inwardly, stunned and dismayed at the sudden level of her unforeseen kneed. That’s awful. Cancel that.
- ” My bra’s being a bitch today,” she observed, wincing thoughtfully like somebody trying to come up with an apt descriptor for her discomfort, just using “like” or “as.”
You know what? Neither 2 nor 3 certify. This numbered list business isn’t helping. Let me simply clear the mind and … let the discomfort similes come honestly. Easily. Without number.
Likewise, those were too verbose, too. You didn’t ask total sentences! Simply the contrasts, pal! Okay. Concentrate, annn-n-nd … loose
the discomfort was like a knife in the gut
the discomfort was like a knife in the ass
the pain was as a knife in the hand
Hm. Those were all total sentences, brother. Low-caps and no-punct isn’t deceiving anybody! That last one’s kind of ambiguous, though: a knife in the hand. Like it! Like it. there were shooting discomforts like a knife in the hand as he fired his gun up a one last stand
Dang it, I just draw at this tonight. Usually I’m pretty all right at the figures of speech. Perhaps it’s the discomfort?
Hm. Maybe pain is not my muse. All I’m getting is dumb ones.
You know what? I feel like I do not explain discomfort by comparison.
I think it’s possible it feels like a jokey, distancing aspect. Affected and self-indulgently literary. I think with discomfort: immediacy. That’s what’s wanted.
However let’s go nuts simply in case.
Feel free to give up reading anywhere along the way listed below, because folks, here comes an I do not know what kinda ride:
Pain tired into her skull with a yawn as she tried to recall what she had actually done to deserve it. Something enjoyable. She busied her little hands up and down his clothing in an automatic magic trick that worked every time – but left him tingling and somewhat the even worse for wear, recoiling in sympathy with her poor head, except for him it was little shooting stars, shooting triggering white heat, burning ache and sizzling flinch running up and down his inner aural network in waves like an incipient neurological condition. He neglected it as they both said “YES” in a specific and quite forward way. “DAMN!” she stated as they each enthusiastically started and began. “OW!” he returned. “Are we sure this is the right time? Do you think we’re coming down with the covid?” they both queried in synchrony – but what the hell, they were two too far into it by then and in some way, it meant too much. As they got to work and frothed it up to a ripping pitch, the discomfort was like hectic gnomes industrially working them each in joints, seamily working nerves and veins for brilliant semi-precious pain like ore, in colors they ‘d never seen before, nor soon to forget. He either was being ridden by a stallion of pain or he was one – his every lurching and haunching sinew whinnying and sobbing out “neigh!” She on the other hand had a pounding in her head like she could not think, offset by a comparable one elsewhere which was more like a burro or burrito than a “stallion of discomfort” honestly, however she felt sure she might break it and come out on top – vwoop! Up and over she goes and on we go! Why were they both doing this? Clearly they were not well. It seemed as if some unspoken accord of esteem had been struck and reached between them, like this grinding and teeth-gritting-towards-excruciating-joy-&&- release experience was some essential, whimsical and completely unjustified presentation of psychological toughness and psychological perseverance, atcha & & back atcha – and it was by no ways clear who was who. It meant they had what it takes to pull ridiculous, showoff sexual stunts for no factor – well, that was something. But the arrays and panoplies of pain in between and through their signed up with form( s) had reached the point where the pain was like a clown cars and truck, disgorging its endless and significantly unwelcome load of clowns cavorting in and all through the three-ring circus of their progressively, needlessly acrobatic coupling. What was wrong with them !? They needed to be unhealthy. It seemed like working towards working itself out well, though. The discomfort they significantly focused and shared was progressively like a child’s aching, loosening tooth, fascinating and seductive hurt you simply wish to poke with your brave tongue till