Elegy of the self

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.