affection

The one and only actor on a stage I've constructed,

with the luck to command full public attention,

spent in splendid pronunciation of silence -

the highest display of melancholic depression.

The fresh tang of spice and fruit in the form

of warm mulled wine luxuriates

a jaded palate; but I savour better still

the thrill of a sombre glum despondent gloom.

Entombed delectably in tranquilized estate,

I rate the risk of addictive self-indulgence

as exaggerated, although I realize

the prize comes at the price of tedium for others.

This watching as my inner sadness grows

brings kind release from contemplating woes.