What If?

What if I told you that happiness was everlasting?
That it was invulnerable, without fault;
That it could never be destroyed or
Belittled?
That happiness cannot be breached but at certain times,
When something is so irrevocably negative as it can upset it?
That Jefferson was wrong, and happiness need not be pursued?
That I am happy?
I’ll tell you what:
I’d be lying.
Don’t look at me that way, or cock your head like
A confused dog, a mongrel needing its throat cut in
Mercy.
Don’t look at me as a wellspring of knowledge in happiness, either;
For I am no sage on the subject-
Happiness and I are too far estranged, for that.
In fact, I’ve a question for you:
What, exactly, is happiness?
From my experience, it is a fleeting, unlikely thing
Something to be feared rather than embraced
Seeing as it’s just there to toy with you.
It’s an unwanted guest, mainly because it leaves
Right after- only after- building you up.
It smiles at you, only to reveal a grin of broken glass,
And broken hopes.
It is something to run from,
It’s fraudulent.
Happiness is not something in and of itself,
But a façade that depression might wear
To make sure you hit as hard as possible.
It is a monstrosity,
Gibbering insanities at you while you grasp at it and it grasps at you,
Ramming you down its insatiable throat as it
Chokes on its incongruity.
You can see a maddened cloud in its
Frozen, plastic eyes
And all it really wants to do is to
Gnash your flesh in its idiotic grin
And run your heart through its tearing jaws.
That’s all, you know.
It’s the elevator that falls from the top floor.
The bridge with that last crumbling support.
That ladder with that high, rusty rung.
That’s all I’m getting at.
Yeah. So.
What if I were to tell you that I wasn’t happy?
Would that shock you?
Would you weep for me?
Would you hug me?
Would you shrug?
Would you care?
What if?
And what if I were to tell you that I’m going to guess
Towards that last?