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.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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