Merchant of my Soul

I am the merchant of my soul.
Ceaselessly looking to sell my discourse.
"Come all, my blackest face on sale
My vices and virtues on stage, coarse."
Out of innocence long ago now,
My love's stories boring my constants.
I will find intrigues, I swear, I vow,
To let my dear customers enjoy my incidents.
And yet so says I -to myself- "at least
I held my head high, and didn't grumble.
I wasn't the saint in the stories, others beast."
And yet still thousand woes at my heart's every crumble.
These are my goods -as you see- ,but I will not charge thee.
For such a good listener -as you are- my price is free.