Do you like it?
Hurting me I mean.
It seems I'm never enough,
and I wonder,
If I'll ever be.

Do you like it?
Loving me I mean.
I feel bad a little,
mostly all the time.

Do you hate it that much?
Living I mean.
Because it seems,
You can't let me.

My chest is filled with men,
who enjoy seeing pain,
and yes,
you're one of them.
But this is a poem.
So I guess,
you can be beautiful.