Peter Parker had lived through a lot, he knew loss.
The loss of his parents when he was too young to really remember them,
The loss of his innocence ripped away by someone he thought was a friend,
The loss of his uncle Ben whose death he still blames himself for,
The loss of Mr. Stark who died because he wasn’t enough,
And now the loss of Aunt May, the last of his Blood.
Peter Parker had been through a lot, he knew pain.
The pain of being raped, and never telling a soul,
The pain of watching his uncle bleed out in his arms,
The pain of being stabbed again and again,
The pain of taking a bullet he could have dodged but didn't cause it would have hit the person behind him,
The pain of being too slow, too slow to stop that rapist, too slow to take the bullet,
The pain of cradling the people he failed in his arms as he tries his best to comfort them,
The pain of his muscles tearing apart as he tries to hold together a ferry,
The pain of being crushed under a building and then his body feeling like it shattered as he lifted it off himself,
The pain of his body being ripped apart atom by atom as it tries to put itself back together,
The pain of hearing tony’s heartbeat for the last time,
The pain of being hit by a train meant to be killed by someone he trusted,
The pain of making an impossible choice.
Peter Parker thought he knew loss and pain, he thought it couldn't possibly get worse, but then it did. He thought he knew until he told dr to make everyone forget, forget him.
He thought it would be okay, he thought he could handle it.
Peter Parker thought he knew loss then he lost everything.
Peter Parker thought he knew pain and then he had no one left to help him through it.
Peter Parker thought his life couldn't get any worse,
And then it did.