Can't Listen, Too Proud to Hear

I've taken to masochism, hurting myself without discomfort
The kind of pain so deep, you convince yourself out doesn't hurt...not that it's pleasurable, but instead it's a familiar ache
One you've known all your life, a smoke screen of false provado and a shield of lies
Leading everyone to believe they are getting a deeper knowledge of you...inventory of who they've found in you
Simply an oil painting of the perception they expect, no matter the bold vulgarity of you outward nature
Never truly being free...
It's the pain that forces your hand, you believe you were born to bare it and it is the test of your true salt
You refuse to listen, and with pain embedded in my core pride has become moo matter what you start now...it should have never mattered on the first place