Sometimes I hurt myself. Sometimes, I don't.
Sometimes I feel my pain because it's all mine.
But people say I'm so cold.
And I can't figure out why they would ever say that.
I feel a lot of pain. I swear.
Now you don't believe me?
And I'm supposed to be the heartless one?
Who are you to judge me?
How dare you make designs on who I am.
I know I'm unfair. But how fair is this?
Ripped to shreds for being my way.
Thanklessly shunted from one day to the next.
Jumping through flaming hoops. Walking that extra mile, barefoot.
For who? For me, and my cold, dark soul?
No hope for the living.
No prayer for the dying.
Neither here, nor there, trying to please everyone.
Not knowing how impossible my purpose.
The harder the endeavor, the more likely I am to fail.
Doomed to fail? Then this is my success.
I need to live, not caring for your comment.
I need to be me, not to be liked, but to get through my days.
My time is mine alone, so forgive me.
My lack of consideration is my gracious reply.
Once soft and porous, I crumbled in your iron fist.
Now hardened and made smooth by time's currents,
I stand resurrected.
This is my life, my time, my whim and fancy.
I needn't prove my worth or ambition to anyone or you.
With a heart of stone,
I turn my back on you and your kind.
Your ideals are my poison, and readily I rid my life of them.
I am a rock, a stone that isn't easily transformed.
My lifeless soul is none of your business, so stand aside and leave me be.
My soulless life is mine and mine alone.
This is me!