eagerly

I sit alone
By the afternoon on the couch
Reading a newspaper, watching the tv news
But there’s this sadness pumping
And agglomerated in my core
So, that I decide to understand it
I squeeze the speaker
Try to rip off some tears
But nothing falls off
- Maybe its not that type of sadness -
So I take a couple of walks
Try to find things meaningless, don’t feel anything
But the sensation of this void is impossible
Things are coated with such terrible intensity
- Maybe its not this type of sadness -
This is so empty
That I choose to take a shower
Hot water
But it doesn’t dissolves
There are no sad tears
I’m predisposed
So I raise the water temperature
And when it reaches and burns the skin
I drop a groan
and find that maybe its not this type of pain
So I wrap myself
Make a phone call
Meet an old lover
Rub myself in his arms, remember his smell, the touch of his skin, his mellow voice
I try to have nostalgia, longing, to want everything back
But suddenly I realize,
while lying there
That maybe
It is not this kind of sadness
So I smashed
And hash the booze
and the ashtrays
are made by the floor, cigarette burns
And its not that either
Not that kind of madness
Sadness
It gets old
And not knowing
Feels so much worse
Then being alone
And trying to cry
Feels so much better than
Preventing you not to
After awhile
It’s the end of the day
And I still got that newspaper to read
And the tv news to watch
There are always newspapers
And tv news never get tired
I sit down
It’s also not that kind of sadness
So
What is it?