Pain

It starts with a twinge. Just a twinge. Then before you know it, you're howling like an abandoned baby banshee who just wants to be held for a while and fed some warm milk. It's the feeling of utter gut-wrenching nauseating want to tear your own eyeballs out agony that makes you weak in the head and causes your kidneys to spontaneously dysfunction. Sometimes it hurts so bad you want to lie down on the floor and eat a corner of the carpet. Why? Well because it's there. Because it's something you have control over. After you're done, the carpet will be damaged. Torn. Affected. Unlike the source of the disturbing anguish that sucks the living air out of the cells at the back of your throat when you're trying not to scream into your blankie. Oh the blankie understands. The blankie knows you. It will never leave. It might get a bit shredded due to the ravages of time and the ravaging child in you but it'll be there till you throw it out. Not the other way around. So you cling. Cling in mishope of some possibility of fulfillment in the warm, almost suffocating comfort of your blankie. Even the internet fails you. You have to put in something to get something out of the ether. But not the blankie. The blankie will offer itself up as something to squeeze no matter what. Very self-sacrificing that way, blankies are.

Pain hurts man. Sometimes it really just... hurts.