All that has been running through my head lately has been images and metaphors of pain. I imagine being delicately flayed open with the thinnest of knives, knives slicing down between ribs, ribs splaying. Reaching between to stop the quivering, exposed muscle inside. The struggle that ensues between mindlessly driven flesh and tireless, merciless intent.

The refrain in my internal monologue has been, This hurts like hell. Stopping for a moment to ponder my language, I conclude that I couldn't have said it better. Hell to me means two things: knowing sin but being alienated from good. Guilt, but no forgiveness.