I liked physical pain.

Wait, let me rephrase that.

I preferred physical pain.

These days, whenever I receive a paper-cut, I don’t complain about it anymore.

I actually get a bizarre sense of relief because the prick and the blood relaxes me.

I look forward to put on the antiseptic and feel the burn spread.

I looked forward to feel the sting.
It was kind of exhilarating.

I tried to tell myself that I wasn't insane and reasoned that it was mostly because I had a sense of control over physical pain.

I mean, I could take the cotton ball off and blow air on it and the pain will slowly fade.

If I wanted the pain again, I would just press the cotton ball against it.

The cut would heal eventually and leave a slight scar.

But, emotional pain?

Now, that's the kind of pain that sends the Boogeyman under your bed.

You will never know when you will receive a paper cut on your soul.

But when you do, the cut and the pain on your soul will never heal.

Never.

You will just have to bury the agony deep inside,
And pray to God that it never resurfaces ever again. 

Emotional pain feels like your soul was put into a shredder, but only to be put back together again by a person who you thought was your savior,
But he wasn't your savior, was he?
He was the person who decided to throw your soul back into that shredder again.

Then, you realize that there is no one to sew back your tarnished soul.

So it just lies there, in a heap of black and gray at the bottom,

And you have no idea when your soul will mend and be ripped apart once again.

And you are so terrified for that moment to arrive.

Living with that fear, is what life is.