It hurt. To ascribe poetry to such pain would be worthless. No words could match the feeling. The pain itself was poetry. The physical pain… seeping through my skin, deeper, and deeper. Swaying my emotions like the very tree tops caught by a harsh wind. Is that not poetry? The pain crawled over me… like so many insects, invisible to my eye, devouring me… making their way into my core to finish me there. Is that not poetry? I didn’t know it was possible. I didn’t know it could be done in such a way. If anyone else had tried it wouldn’t have left such a lingering sting. How is it… my only weakness… I turned a thousand times over in my bed. How unsettling. One thought coming back to me. Over and over again. It hurt. Oh, how it hurt.
If I have to describe this then you will cannot possibly understand.