Sad

The sort of sad I feel is straight to the bones. Its an aching, dull sort of pain that constantly tires you out and drags you down. It's the sort of sadness that settles in your muscles and leaks into your bloodstream with every sideways, crooked beat of your heart. It makes your every cell feel heavy and weak, like someone's dipped each separate one in concrete and settled them back in your body. It weighs you down until you can barely move, barely talk, barely breathe.

The sort of sad I feel is a lost concept to some people. They don't understand why I could be so sad when I have so much. They say I'm living the life, I've got everything I could possibly need, but I don't. I'm stuck in a hole I've dug with my own shovel, and I keep digging. Because the people that don't understand, they're standing above me, watching my arms work and my fingers bleed while I dig further and further down, drinking water while I'm drowning.

The sort of sad I feel is sort of always like that. Always like drowning and watching people drink what's pulling me down. It's like watching someone light a match while my skin is melting off. It's like seeing someone drop an ice cube into their glass while I'm freezing to the ground. It's like digging a hole while everyone else throws dirt back in.

The sort of sad I feel is always there, like the air and the earth, and it won't ever quit, like the wind and the rain.