sadness sleeps where I sleep,
curled up at the foot of my bed
like a matted dog who sprinted
in from the torrents of blue rain.

sadness eats where I eat,
plopping her mud-caked boots
on my dining room table and
wailing through the silence
for potato chips and some water.

sadness walks where I walk,
around the house, brushing our
teeth in the bathroom mirror,
trying to torment them until they
turn white, looking at the page in
a book I promised my mother I’d
read, staring at the mirror until
the tears come, getting lost in
the sullen gray ache of my house,
trying not to let the crimson show,
staring at the mirror and staring
at the mirror and staring at the mirror.

I collapse to a clatter of bones
at sadness’ feet.

I beg her to go, to leave this place, to
take to the streets and live for
once without me.

I grab the edges of her shirt and try
to pull her down to the tile floor
of the kitchen.

I cry, “sadness, sadness,
I cannot keep going when
you are around.”

but she stays, and so do I,
and we sleep and we eat
and we walk and I weep.

for sadness lives where I live.