Crown of Thorns

I wear my crown of thorns for all to see;
It comforts me to bleed before the world,
That all may know the suff'ring I've endured
Lest free from guilt or torment they would be;

A martyr's role it seems is cast for me
To call to mind affliction yet uncured:
Rest not upon the blessing ye've incurred,
My torment 'neath ye mattress is the pea;

And why, ye ask, must I berate ye bliss?
Cannot I find some happy state of mind
That might afford the mass a peaceful sleep?

Misunderstood, to this I am resigned;
Concern I scorn; thy pity I dismiss,
The juice for me is just to see ye weep!

Note: I've been experimenting with sonnets, as you can see. This sonnet is in the Italian form:
AB
BA
AB
BA
CDE
DCE