I eat my sadness for breakfast, Spread it on my bread like butter, I drink it down, a bitter juice swilling in my soul Cutting a hole. It hovers over me, smothering. No welcomed guardian angel but a constant comrade nonetheless as I dress. I bind it with letters, written in round loops of ink Sink it under an ocean of crossed t's and a dotted i I sigh. But it slips away Smoke and fog swirls And I breathe it in morning and night And it weighs me down A corpus frown I sink my feet into it I put on my vest It holds me like mud or quicksand or water. Its enduring daughter.