Let it entomb you. Let the thing inside you rot and grow and brown. Let it fester there unencumbered. Let it chip away at your very being. An ocean against the weary foundation of your mind. A cancer in the soft flesh of your soul. A drought in the storm of your imagination. Let it well up within you. You are not a Man. You are not a corpse. You are not a tomb or a stone or flesh or a storm. You are only this. For a moment, give yourself wholly to sadness. Let it be.