Sadness.

My tryst with sadness
is a bubbling cauldron
of various concoctions of
unanswered questions,
of questions I inescapably
bury my head into,
of questions that take me
back into the past,
I think of simpler times
I remember a carefree
vivacious child
who hadn’t the slightest idea
of a despondence that was about
to drown him,
an unexplained and extended digression
from a conviviality
which I don’t know how to rationalize
other than as life
The past is a toxic landscape
the past is a kingdom among clouds
But why can I not help my
longing for it today?

It engulfs me
It makes me become a person
I do not want to be
But I am not afraid
I have been acquiring armour
I have been battling
myself.

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