I didn't know we were in a competition in suffering, I didn't know I needed to justify myself. Do I need to legitimize my pain so I can feel it? Underneath my skin, that lately has been so thin I can see through it. In my bones, till they snap underneath the weight of guilty. In my tendons and muscles and cartylage, that tear up under the strain of carrying... everything. My dreams. Half forgotten and broken inside the hollow of my chest. My love. This thing that bleeds and run between my fingers like a heart squeezed. My pride. Spat in my own face every single time I tried to change and failed. My dignity. Dirty as the wine and sweat stained clothes I forgot to wash. Do I even have anything or memories are just these jaded pieces that don't fit together anymore? Knowledge is this cold edge, cutting cruelly like the bitting of sharp teeth. I'm sorry, I don't hurt enough. I'm sorry, I cannot give a explanation for my despair that seems to creep inside my head like darkness. I'm sorry life has not damaged me enough. I didn't know it was a requirement. I just thought we suffered, and pain is pain.