A/N: This is a montage of sad and lonely poems, most are going to be very dark and somewhat depressing: just a heads up for what's coming.

Chronicles of Sorrow

To Be Broken

Hurt is given in many ways,
Taken in only one: Pain.
I may stand strong, and proud,
But you cannot see what is felt,
And what is felt, oh it crumbles
The soul, destroyed by many little things
But built up into a monster.

Hurt is given in many ways,
By words flung out by a sharp tongue,
Or by actions blocked with steel.
Still it is given by crushing blows
And my will, my strength wavers,
Quails before that which is Enemy,
Desiring nothing more than a refuge
From this dark and endless storm, but

Taken in only one, Pain
Will determine Life or Death,
Feeling or Unfeeling, and as such,
I pray my tears will show you just
How I fall apart, how I break
Under the burning, the branding, the torture
You mercilessly beat out, endlessly
Craving more of my blood on your macabre easel.

I may stand strong and proud,
But gods know I cannot hold longer,
I am broken, twisted apart by all
I remember said, and what I now believe
As a Truth: there is something, but
Not where I am, not what I am.
Do you know what this does to me?
Did you ever really care, or no?

But you cannot see what is felt:
And feelings drive me over to the edge,
I want to take that step, that jump
To fly until I cannot, and will not again.
Perhaps then a solace I haven't known
Will embrace me in something warm;
I don't know… I wish I did.
I can only wonder, and hope for better.

And what is felt! Oh, it crumbles
My soul, my essence into ashes you've burnt;
Cinders of something that is now nothing.
Do you weep, when no-one sees? Is it sorrow?
Or does joy water your eyes so bright?
Do you know of the cold around you,
Clinging tightly to all you are,
Smothering me with its claws?

The soul destroyed by little things,
Sleights few – if any – notice,
The light jests and quiet teasing
Belies the dark abyss you hurl me into.
Tell me, what do you achieve by this,
This incessant mockery of what I am not,
Against what I should be.
Surely all this fades, and time makes it one? No,

But built up over Time into a Monster
I cannot defeat: I have tried, but
Gods know I am helpless, defenceless
Against its fright and terrible might, fury
I cannot fathom leeches my perfect harmonies,
Leaving nothing behind to remind me of home:
But home, like all things I came to know, myself,
Are nothing but empty, hollow shells of nothing.