Sadness is a burden
Sadness is a weighted rope
Sadness is a black hole
Sadness is the absence of
all joy and hope
Sadness is a moth fluttering
inside the darkness of a broken heart
Sadness is a crawling centipede
its seemingly endless creeping feet
tearing your insides apart
Sadness is a leaf left
to rot upon the earth
Sad ness is a fetus never
given birth
Sadness is the absence
of softly shining light
Sadness is the need to flee
with never the chance to take flight
Sadness is the rose
with no perfume and no petals
just a broken stem of thorns
Sadness is the lonely bird
that sings a plaintive song
in the darkness of a thousand
winter dawns

Sadness is a teardrop
that flows
To a river
It flows

Sadness is the rain
That pours
On a dim afternoon
It pours

Sadness is a long drive
On a particularly long stretch of road
Without trees
Without homes
Without anything
Sadness stretches
Sadness is neverending

Sadness is looking at yourself
In the reflection
Of a window
And not seeing
You
But a shell of you you were
And never will be again

Sadness is never leaving your room
Sadness is letting everyone move on without you
Sadness is disappointing your family everyday
Sadness is nothing
Sadness is my everything

The sadness
Was a black pool
Of a haunting tragedy.

The sadness
Is a suicide
Of a lonely man.

The sadness
Is the gripping of bed sheets
And the clenching of teeth through crying eyes.

The sadness
Are the lonely nights alone
And the agony of vulnerability.

The sadness
Is a contagious disease
A promise of eternal melancholy.

The sadness
Are the sleepless nights
Of empty wishing on dead stars

The sadness
It was an overwhelming emotion
Like a cannibal
Tearing my flesh off my bones
A delicacy of the highest honor.

The sadness
Was a jump from a skyscraper
A slit on the wrist
An overdose off pills.

A merciless dance of death.

Sadness isn't just one emotion
      it's a blanket
                   that warms the others
                                Warm, how unusual
            yet all my sadness
                               is never cold
                                                            ­                              never cool
                  I like things that are
                          cool
   and I do not like sadness
                               no, to me it is warm
                                     uncomfortably so
         as though lit by the fires of a hell I don't believe in
a torment in false hopes
         hope that is so warm
                just like sadness
                                       which is like
               hope and despair
              seasoned with twinges of guilt
                             and anxiety
  like the horrid blush that comes
when you've done something naughty
burning so hot you fear your face
     will melt
         that is what sadness feels like
                                                            to me
   wretched and horrid and never enough shame
       So silly, to think there's something that ought to go with it
                                              as though sadness itself were not enough

         perhaps they were right
            you can become addicted
                        to a certain kind of sadness
           like a drug of sorts
  a chemical cocktail you brew in your mind
          to douse your feelings when you don't want them
      because sadness is safe
                                                 it's familiar
                                                        ­                                        and you know how to deal with it


                                        so you think

                      even as it eats you alive from the inside
              you think you can control it
                         that you can stop whenever you want
                                and that's the lie of it
                                                        becaus­e
                                                        sadness
                           isn't just sadness
        it's everything else we don't need
                                     don't want
                            
         shame
                         remorse                                  
                                                     regret       
                              fear

          ­                   why hold on to them?
                         yet I can't seem to stop
           it pulls me back
addicted to the drug of familiarity
       funny, I think, to be addicted to shame
                                   touted so long as something to shy away from
         that regret is not worth the effort
   and remorse a thing
to let go of
        yet here I am
clasping them in my hands
  breathing life to them
      when they wither
terrified when they are gone
       a curse that I know will return
                     so why wish for it to leave?
           A life can be lived in the warmth
                          not a good one, albeit
                    but a life
                        instead of a lie
                     an addiction to sadness
                                 rather than
                         happiness
          at least I shall never be disappointed.

The definition is:
A condition or quality of being sad.
It's more than that,
It is...
well--- how do I put this?
It's a way we express our displeasure with something sadly.
Sadness is an emotion, an expression, a state of mind.
Sadness its weakness...
but also,
Strength.
Sadness is a state where we feel sad and express how sad we feel.
Some of us express sadness by, crying, hiding, and being quiet.
But sadly some of us cut, burn, mutilate, and starve ourselves.
Sadness is good and bad.
Sadness is something I give off as I write this poem.
Realizing what I have done and what I will do.
I strive though to change.
Sadness is something,
Good and bad,
Sadness is something that is seen as,
Strong and weak,
Sadness is seen,
as a state of mind and thought

my sadness is asking to use the bathroom during class just so I can lock myself up in one of the stalls and break down completely without worrying about people watching me. my sadness is trying trying trying to write but my hands are shaking too much to do anything but bury my head in them. my sadness is typing up messages to friends about what a ****** day it's been, but deleting the whole thing just as I'm about to send it, because no one deserves to be burdened by my problems— this is my struggle and mine alone; and I need to be able to deal with it. my sadness is not being in control of my own thoughts; not knowing how make the screaming voices stop. my sadness is absorbing the pain from people around me and sometimes letting it get to me.
--
my sadness isn't rainy days and a few "sad songs". my sadness isn't "she drank the whole bottle but your name still burns at the back of her throat". my sadness isn't me spending time in children's playgrounds, surrounded by people with thoughts darker than mine ever could be, and a taste for drugs and danger. my sadness isn't "she smokes now, but her mind is still as hazy as the day you left". my sadness isn't flowers in my hair or anything that can be encapsulated in a tumblr photo or quote. my sadness isn't beautiful, nor poetic.
--
it's just sad.

People label me as one of those very observant ones they have ever met in their lives. Whatever I think about others, is close enough to ninety percent of the truth (not to judge, of course).

And it is also truth that those who laugh the most, cry the most. I guess this also applies to those very positive people, who are the most negative in their heads or they've also been through the most negative incidents.

There is a certain boy, a young man, who just entered the twenties stage of life. I observe and read him, and I have been doing this for the past eight months.

He is quiet, he is kind, he is a very bright person who looks out for others, probably too much. He is smart and has attended top schools and won several competitions in the martial arts, as well as performing and fine arts. A very artistic soul, quite opposed to his rather playful countenance; though beauty is displayed in all his capabilities and striking features. Even the way he speaks is soothing and gentle, and I admit I would sleep to it and regret how his voice is too nice to be literally slept on.

I know a part of his painful past with the spinal tuberculosis accident or the fact when he couldn't enter his dream art school. And perhaps, a darker part of his history that is unknown except by him and his close ones.

But I can see it, I can see it on his face, in his actions and some of his words: sometimes he tries to get attention by doing unnecessary or silly things; says the weirdest of phrases; he gets tired and there's this certain feeling lurking in his gaze. He always looks like he's looking for something, for someone. He always looks like he is wondering about everything and anything. He even looks lost or frustrated on some occasions.

Honestly, a Sadness Collector knows when another is nearby or in sight. I am one, and I know he is another. He always wants people to depend on him or for them to think that he is alright. It's not so bad, but I wish he would rest his little fragile heart that can only take so much of others' sadness. He still has his own sadness to keep under all of that. I want him to give some of it to me that the burden and tears may be shared between us, and he can live a little lighter.

But I love him, because he is a different Sadness Collector. He always cheers others up and tries to help. He always compliments others. He is always willing to learn the right way, to go out and do his best. This Sadness Collector doesn't deserve to be one; he deserves to collect happiness instead.

Although there are times when his friends say that he is quieter that usual, and a bit less active. He says he usually sleeps it off and feels better when he awakes after. He says he rarely gets stressed but when he does, it's a whole different thing and only he knows how his own mind can destruct his built-up facade of confidence. Maybe he gets too quiet at times because he thinks he might make a mistake again. He may appear very vain and very confident, but I'm afraid it might all just be an image that he's painted of himself for everyone around him to see.

His music taste is very much like mine. He shared some alternative music, but as soon as I heard the melody and read the lyrics, it doubled as a small cry of distress.

I’m actually very beautiful when the world is pitch-black
The most I’ll get is being consumed when I try to love
The trouble is irrelevant
It doesn’t matter what’s wrong

If only I can be flattered just like you do
Then the torment around me will perhaps die out
I’m not concerned about how many chances I get
As fearless as a giant; indulging myself; however I’m no match

Ugly, don’t turn the lights on
The love I want is haunted on the pitch-black stage
Ugly, in this ambiguous time
My existence is like an accident

Some look beautiful after a drop of tear
Some just throw away their name
As long as you are hypocritical enough you won’t be afraid of anything, right?
If the script is written well, who will be more dignified?
I can only silently face the beautiful innocence
There are many chances for desire to become drowning in alcohol
Like the fearlessness of dust
Becoming ash, who will remember who
Who cares if he’s a match

Ugly, you won’t blame them if you get used to it
Get high and stomp on it with strength
Ugly, this is our time
It would actually be a shock if I don’t exist

Oh, how I want to embrace him every time I think of him listening to that song. As emotional human beings, we pay attention to such lyrics more often than not, that reflect the listener's or our emotions. Maybe he thinks he lacks in many, many ways. It is normal for him to think so. But I hope he doesn't dwell on it. He likes this anime show that I watch, too. That show, though, is a sad one which shows the masks of society and the gore of the past behind every flawless present.

He is a very trustworthy friend; a funny guy who is "in love" with himself; a talented individual who loves people and language; an artist of most arts, as well as an art himself. And as much as I say that I want to be the one who collects his sadness or whom he shares his load of sadness with, sometimes I doubt he will ever let me.

I feel like I can no longer do anything anymore for him because he is the one who has already collected mine.

my sadness feels like
i'm swallowing sea water -
every gulp down my throat is a step closer to
dehydration
sinking to the bottom
no flotation
lacking foundation
my sadness feels like
vomiting frustrations
stagnation -
my sadness feels like stagnation.
sensations of vibrations
surround me but do not reach
my hands
or any part of me for that matter.
I see it -
i know its there
the energy is flowing in the air
a devious glare - i swear
i stare
and stay aware that this
illness
does more than impair - it's unfair , really.
My sadness feels like everything around me is dead -
i know its really in my head but
i look at the evening sky and see not
yellows and reds but
grays instead -
i used to imbed the colors into my
brain but lately its been filled with
tar - seeping into unhealed scars
its making a home here -
till i disappear
its not just me it's "we're" that's here -
its overstayed its welcome.
My sadness feels like a man putting his feet on my
coffee table.
My sadness feels like an empty chest -
one that rots with dust and
human rust it
echoes and howls when opened -
like its terrified of its urge to leave.
My sadness feels like a parasite that *****
until it falls but
it doesn't fall -
only crawls
through the hollow parts of me
and creates substance.
My sadness feels like accepting to drown.

This sadness, this numb
It is not poetic.
I cannot write about galaxy ridden veins
or fire seared eyes

This sadness, this emptiness
It is not beautiful
There will be no heroic sweeping away of broken princesses by
princes with cigarette clenched teeth
or ***** laced lips

This sadness, this gut-wrenching pain
Will not be daises in Marlboro boxes
It can't be unraveled threads sewed back
by an infinite but dysfunctional love

No, no.

This sadness isn't any of that.

This sadness, it's raw
It hurts to look at but it's torture to bear
People look away from this type of sadness
Because it sure as hell ain't pretty.
But what it is is real
This is the sadness that, once moved past, is never forgotten

It's worn like armor in battle
Like a coat of arms

This sadness makes you a **soldier

This poem is of sadness
Of all of life's disappointments
Much like water continuously poured
Until you can no longer breathe.  
Until you would want to break free.
Until you want to give up and break down
Until you reach a point where you just want to end it all
How cruel should life be?
When you did not do anything to deserve this.

This poem is of sadness
Of the lack of happy endings
Life only have happy endings for the fortunate ones
So little that many go out disappointed
So much more wanting it to happen

This poem is of sadness
It is of all those things kept and almost forgotten.
****** and broken but is not to be put away.
Always kept away but is still dreaded
For seeing those broken pieces that once was whole and functional hurts.  
In every level.  
In every aspect it has.  
But it is kept to keep you company in those drunken nights.  
When you can't feel the pain  
If a cut reaps your flesh.  

This poem is of sadness
Of that sadness kept in for the longest time.
Of that sadness who never saw the right
The key to light it all up.  
To keep it all away and erase it from the mind.  
To replace it with that much wanted happiness.  
To live a life better than what is right now.  
But think it over, see my dear, isn't too late to actually wish for it to happen right now
When life already took its toll  

This poem is of sadness
Of relationships broken and wounds that take too long to heal
Surely no one is to blame
But the self, the mind, and the heart
Three which is in constant battle
With nothing ever settled
The mind thinks; but doesn't see
The heart dictates; but dosen't feel
The self doesn't follow; but will give in too soon

This poem is of sadness
To the person  
Who has been looking for answers  
Constantly
In every place the feet drags  
Looking for peace
But everywhere
Was too hostile to stay

This poem is of sadness
To the two who hasn't been honest
Been there forever to conceal
Everything that needs to be revealed
An explanation isn't too hard to give
To at least relieve what has been breached

This poem is of sadness
To the support group of madness
Not knowing which ones to see
Didn't know what else to believe
Too torn of what's happening
Human caught in the middle
Silently apologizing for the damage that's too big

This poem is of sadness
Of forgiveness hard to let go
'Cause once you've been told
Not everything you see is so
Now tell me which is right and which is wrong
So at least, even in the deepest of thought,
There it is seen
The peace that took too long to see