The feeling of familiarity with sadness;
That moment of peace I used to find at fourteen,
The feeling of identification—well, belonging,
When I found something like me,
Or something so intimately exhilarating,
Looking at me...
It made me think for a while,
That sadness is pleasurable.
You might not have seen me,
But it indeed took notice—
But I'm now nineteen.
And I barely remember how looking for pleasure, became looking for pain.
I'm infected; in my body, sadness is a wound spreading like a gangrene.
I try to get rid of it, but it has gotten rid of me.
When did we fuse so hard? We became two sides of the same coin.
Hi, hello, I'm sadness, and a bit human at the bones.
And I feel her—I remember her—at fourteen years old,
But the exhilaration wore off,
And consequences showed up.
Except I'm nineteen now.
But why am I upset, if I played with fire?
I should've known that there's more than reward to desire.
I...