Happiness is foreign
Dare I say bleak?
The path to it is harsh
The climb to it steep
A taste of it makes me worried
Fragile that it makes me unwell
I wish I could live without sadness
I wish I could be sound and swell

It’s a feeling simmering above my chest
Buzzing with optimism for the unknown
Knowing that it burns out quickly
Keeps me alert for what is shown
I’m starting to think of sadness as a clutch
Without it,  I won’t amount to much
and with that fizzled happiness inevitably gone
I will remain empty and hollow
with a bitter revelation;
“Happiness is nothing but a con.”