What Does It Mean?

Why must I be....

        Why must I be hurt?

        Why must this pain be so curt?        

        Why must I be so horrible and ugly?

        Why can I truly not be me?

        Why must I be in pain with my heart then now on my skin.

        Drawing etches out so I feel like a has-been. 

        I'm worth nothing more then the trash-bin I belong in. 

        Why must I be rude, a terrible lover...

        When all I want to do is cover,

        up the fact that I am hurting so deeply...

        Even if this blood is need-be... 

        I can last without, I mean I've spilled more. 

        Now pardon me as I open the door...

        Running outside into the cold cold night... 

        Now I really do hope you have an appetite. 

        Because I'm going to jump into a frozen lake, making sure I don't come up.

        Then my soul will feel at home and erupt. 

        Why must I be so dark?

        Trying to always make my mark.

        Telling people, "Do not cut?" 

        When I am the one who rebuts?

        Why must I be so vivid,

        always thinking in, so livid. 

        It's as if I cannot end,

        this torture which seems unable to mend. 

        Grief, horror, sadness, pain...

        All of the things I had once said, in vein.