I carry a crown, yet I rule none.
I have a blade, I cut myself with it.
The only stone I ever loved?
The one on my grave.
I have a heart, yet I feel no pain.
I am resentment,
I am guilt.
In the harsh snow,
I become quilt.
I think I love you,
yet, I hurt you in so many ways,
I wander as a kind helper,
yet, I leave no trace.