Albert K. Ashes-Bury Is Sad, I Think

I am not “sad.” I am not it, but, I am going through “it”.
But I do feel so sad. I am so lonely, so lonely, so lonely.

It is nothing I have learned how to share yet.
I have consistently invested in sunk-cost fallacies.
I am blaming—everything I cannot do is a projection
of my own judgement: I did not believe anyone could feel like this;
I did not know such sadness existed.

I can be quite romantic with woe, so when a tear
runs down my finger I feel good about it. But
it is still sad—it is really painful—only this is better
than no feeling at all. I relate to films in these moments—
to something. I am so sad, along with the people
in the screen, but at least I no longer exist behind one.

I analyse myself with this—the better of much sadnesses:
“This one comes with more feeling, at least.”
There used to be spaces very beyond sadnesses: “I must compare—
remember.” All are methods to measure progress—hope.

I’m not sure what I’m doing with this now, but this feels
a touch easier: I am not still hearing what is sunken; I am not
holding the tears in. And the screams. Man—those things…

But they’ve passed; though, I am so lonely with it.
So lonely with it.

My screen is insisting it goes again:
“Well, that’s what you’ve wrote.”

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