O sad girl, what is it that makes you sad. What is it that depresses you in this world of hot green movement. It is as if you see something the rest of us do not, something beneath everything yet pointing up above it. Beckoning the men away from their proper tasks of building towers of science, constructions which may reach to the sky & take us elsewhere from here. But they turn away from this to deal with you.
Sad girl, you entrance me. So sad & polite, walking in a hidden pattern from one place to another, on the way to school, on the way to work. Paintings of memories, chased around the playground by the rambunctious boys, sitting by yourself at lunch, alone even in groups, the one who stands out by absense, picking at the sadness & dejection in your peanut butter sandwich.
O girl, can I have your telephone number. I promise to not misuse it. Never will I write you on a bathroom wall, I will battle any contender seeking to drag you thru the mud. I will wave the flag of freedom & righteousness. But I do it in vain, for the sadness moves for no man.
The men have all fallen, they lie in a trail of wake behind you. You are too much to handle. Still I ask myself, how can I perform for you, what wacky performance might I put on to bring you out of your gloom. You distract me from my manual labor; I'm going off to sea in a war & writing gentle songs of longing. You for whom sadness is the natural state, even when crowds of boys jump out across the table & engage you in crazy sensations. Even in the sensations, melancholy.
The weeping spills invisibly from my soul. I am on your side, but you turn me away. Sad girl, why won't you work with me.
discuss sad girls, the best type