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.
![](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/18907727-288-k592470.jpg)
YOU ARE READING
What Does It Mean?
PoetryThis is a book full of poems, notes, and other sorts of things that help me out! It's... Idunno.weird.