Why Must I Torment Myself Thus?

My soul has from within split asunder!
In twain, my heart is carved!
Magnificent gouges of beating flesh rip themselves from my living core,
Two separate deities engage freedom from my cardiovascular captivity!
Joy, and Sadness,
Commence in a terrible battle of attrition!
A batter and fight,
Until an end can be seen o'er
The topmost of a trebuchet,
Then end, paradoxically, is akin to a sunrise,
Of which beauty streams, flows, and sprouts forth
Doing so for the namesake of Mother Nature, so pastoral,
Growing constantly, as does the power of Sadness:
The end, omniscient and a seer, predicts victory.
Who has layed down the final blow
Upon the crown of their nematic foe?

...Tis earnestly shown, in a similar sense, to previous warring--

Hold fast!
Great Phantasms of myself,
Thou oppse'd forces must pertain victory over thy corresponding soldier:
Ho!
A grinding unhappiness towards a certain achiever:
Methinks that joy has been lost to destruction!
Methinks that I nay hav'it less to shun!