This poem is in Haymitch's point of view, when he has just won the Hunger Games. Rhyming.
They all cheer, but don't they know?
Not the torture I undergo.
Not the pain inside, tearing me,
Not the things... they go on bearing me.
Every night it is the same,
Every nightmare, each remains,
Of the horrid crimes I did,
Of the wretchedness amid.
I stand in my own ruins, weeping,
Seeking solace for me, keeping
Every moment of the Games,
Every torture still remains.
I am not a simple player,
Not just another worthless layer
Of hideousness of the Games,
The hideousness that still remains.
I am not something small, useless,
Not something to appall, ruthless,
But a living, breathing, human being,
Just wanting his life to have some meaning.
The anguish, oh, the penalty,
The torture, it is guaranteed,
A living nightmare, all I am,
An agonized figure, all I can
Do now is try to just forget,
An impossible task, still and yet,
I will try to lose everything,
Memories, nightmares, horrid fiends.
The cheering that I hear below,
They should, but, oh, how could they know
I did not... never wanted to kill,
But see what happened. That and still
I know that I cannot forget.
I know that I cannot lose it.
I know that it will torture me,
I know that the anguish that it... see
My agony, my torture, everything,
Why can't they all just leave me be?
I'll cry and scream and drink and destroy,
But I will always be lost...