You're sad because you're sad.
　　It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
　　Go see a shrink or take a pill,
　　or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
　　you need to sleep.
　　
　　Well, all children are sad
　　but some get over it.
　　Count your blessings. Better than that,
　　buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
　　Take up dancing to forget.
　　
　　Forget what?
　　Your sadness, your shadow,
　　whatever it was that was done to you
　　the day of the lawn party
　　when you came inside flushed with the sun,
　　your mouth sulky with sugar,
　　in your new dress with the ribbon
　　and the ice-cream smear,
　　and said to yourself in the bathroom,
　　I am not the favorite child.
　　
　　My darling, when it comes
　　right down to it
　　and the light fails and the fog rolls in
　　and you're trapped in your overturned body
　　under a blanket or burning car,
　　
　　and the red flame is seeping out of you
　　and igniting the tarmac beside you head
　　or else the floor, or else the pillow,
　　none of us is;
　　or else we all are.