I enjoy the pain,
the others have thrown.
I enjoy the rain,
my eyes have shown.
It's my pleasure
to accept those scars,
for I consider those
as my thousand stars.
It's my satisfaction
to receive those harm,
for it's my comfort zone
and my favorite charm.
It's my happiness
to hug those ache,
for these might be the best
medicine I should take.
For I am fully immune
of wounds which you've brought;
and I know, maybe soon
I would never jibe on this boat.
Because someone like me
is simply a masochist
—one who loves sting of bee
and extreme bite from beast.
For it's alright to be the receiver,
rather than to be the pain maker.
And I use to choose hurting my ownself
over hurting you —which I've rescue.
Even you let the ice in my heart melt;
with these scarred hands, I'll still heal you.
Damage me while I fix you.