The crying stops eventually
The sadness does not

When the night grabs ahold of my lapels and shakes me until my mind rattles, I submit and hang limply from its fingers until it drops me onto my pillow to rot until the morning.

And morning comes and reminds me that even with sunlight the sadness does not stop. It grabs my cheeks and stares me in the eyes until I remember to breathe and then it pushes me away into the abyss of late afternoon where the first tendrils of night begin to reach for my collar once more.

The endless cycle of being too alive for feeling so empty.