People say that sadness is beautiful.

To me sadness is as dark as midnight, and mascara covering even darker circles under sad eyes. 

Sadness is greasy, unwashed hair from too many days stuck in bed

Its red, angry lines across pale skin 

and white in the form of a smile that isn't real. 

Sadness is thin from the lack of an appetite and an empty fridge 

Sadness is so heavy like the words and thoughts that refuse to leave your head

and its heavy like the baggy sweatshirts and blankets that shield you from the rest of the world. 

Its the silence of a room with the door locked tight to keep the demons out 

but in reality its really trapping the demons in. 

Sadness is loud like the voices in your head and empty laughter. 

Sadness is greasy, and dark, and heavy, and thin. 

Its quiet, and lonely, and so goddamn full of emptiness. 

But sadness, real sadness, is not beautiful. 

If sadness is beautiful, then why do you sweep  it under the rug and pretend its not there? 

If sadness is beautiful, then why does it so often go unnoticed?