damaged, broken, busted

You dont posses the power within you to hold, to melt, to mold all the small pieces of my soul  
To fix all of the stuff, piece together all of the "extra parts", the junk
Quiet the monsters, silence the demons, smother the pain,  the hurt, the anger, the rage-that burns hotter than the fires of hell which hath no fury like mine
All the small pieces that glitter and sparkle; the sharp edges prick my fingers and lay open my hands as I struggle to gather them up and clutch them to my chest like treasure-like gold
Get back!
Get away!
Don't touch them they are mine!
I am them!
They are me!
Embracing my achingly beautiful stones in my bleeding hands I turn and face the abyss that I call home
I have no fear-no regrets
All the small pieces are mine
My confidants, my traveling companions
As shattered and haunted I turn into the madness I am forever doomed to roam
Knowing you will not follow me for you haven't the stones; you have not the strength to weather this unstoppable, immovable object
Me being this fiercum beast, a most frighteningly, chaotic beast
A sad freak of nature, a twisted, massive, dark cloud of doom
It is I who will stand lonely, lost and alone
The hurricane, the wayward wandering gypsy, a tsunami
The storm