There's a kind of sadness
so sweet that you can't stop drinking it in.
It lacks the burn of anger
and disappointment's sting.
It springs from the abyss of hopelessness
when life is wrong and it doesn't even matter.
It doesn't consume you like self loathing
but dissolves you in basic defeat
and rocks your scattered pieces like a cradle.
Its lullaby cannot be ignored,
and its words are so true you don't want it to be.
"This will never be okay," it sings.
"You know I'm right," it says.
Even if you try to swim to sunlight,
those blinding rays burn and thaw,
and you sink back to the safety of sadness
where the waves of grief breath for you
and quench your thirst like the primeval sweet water they are.
It is only the lack of love's nourishment
that can coax you from the the depths
before you drown.