art.

Sadness, often felt, rarely spoken -
like a friend whose name you do not say when you speak
because they know you are talking to them,
and everyone else knows who you are talking about.

it is apparent and it is clear. crisp and sweet.
one might argue, bitter, but real sadness is not tainted with anger or contempt
it is not hard or brash.
it is sharp, pierces the heart
and trickles slowly through your veins
weighted and light
noticed, only by those who breathe in its smoke
a slow suffocation
a dying art.

sadness is beauty, sleeping in dark.