You are a cruel one
trail of sorrow
You're not down-trodden
swath of dread
You stroke an ego
Batter a soul
No feeling matters
Accept for yours
There's disappointment
left in your wake
Misery, and grief
on either side
With sleek precision
you cause dispair
Blurring the vision
the sadness pools
Constricting the throat
just loneliness
We'd all be richer
if tears were riches

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Scarlatan, in the year 588 AF.