Unhappiness hangs like a wet, heavy fog
Coating any random happiness with salty tears.
It hovers just above the ground
Snuffing every little hopefulness that glows.

Unhappiness is as silent as a winter’s dawn
That muffles all the birdsong
And the wake-up call of crickets,
And turns the beating heart into a drum.

Unhappiness is as painful as a
Finger slammed shut in a car door,
Where no blood streams out
But turns to purple underneath the skin.

Unhappiness is insidious;
Growing in the half light of depression
Like mushrooms in a lonely cave
That one really knows is there.

Unhappiness is as heavy as a cross
Laid across the shoulders of your heart
As you struggle up the endless hill
That suddenly appears before you.

Unhappiness is a dozen little ills
That mock your efforts to be healthy,
That burrow like a worm into an apple
And curtail the slightest possibility of joy.

Unhappiness is my middle name.
ljm