it all hurt and it hurt bad and you couldn't help but think that you deserves more than this, more of this, this mind boggling burning sensation of absolute agonizing torture that you felt was all too much but still not enough. the pain, though awful, wasn't the thing that hurt the most, no, it was the blearily beautiful wreck that it made you after, destroyed and aching but so pure and raw and new, like a collapsed star or something else, something sweet, something like jam or dandelions in the spring that you were allergic to but couldn't deny their potential, even if you couldn't have them in the house. the pain made you into this new creature and you hated it and loved it and it left you so scarred but so perfect and everything didn't make sense but it sometimes did and it was all a confusing mess of loveliness and terror and you couldn't decided if it was good or not and that was scary.
