Morbid poems

Why do morbid poems cheer me up? I know most of this poem sucks, but I like a few of the lines, and that's enough for me! ^_^

“The Last Man in the World”

There were only three left when the sea calmed—
Three out of two dozen who had boarded the good ship Freedom.
One was the first mate, and the two others brand new to the sea.
No one had noticed the growing storm—
The first mate had just toasted the fair weather when the first raindrop had fallen
Upon the doomed ship, where the sailors had sat merrily drinking.

And then, in an instant, it was over.
The sea took her toy and dashed it upon the waves, scattering planks
And sending men’s souls fleeing from their bodies.
Only three, a mortal trinity, managed to scramble upon the life boat
Before the ship sank into the endless deep.
They huddled beside each other and prayed for the end.

The first mate clutched his goblet to him, as if the spilled wine would save their minds
And distract them from their certain doom—
For he was a pessimist and believed in no rescue.
The youngest of them wept for the souls of his lost friends, but then seemed to brighten
As the seas calmed and the sky turned blue once more—
For he was an optimist and believed in salvation.

And the last—oh the last—seemed to shrivel in the sun.
All too soon his breath grew short and his gaze became frantic.
“Water…. I must have water or I will die!” he gasped, and died.
The pessimist’s point was proven and he seemed almost satisfied
As they offered the corpse to the sea.
But the optimist just smiled and said, “Someone will come.”

Then, on the third day, the raving began, and the optimist laughed as he sang.
He spoke of the time his mother had stayed up all night
To bake a cake that his cat had sat in.
The first mate listened as though the optimist spoke of an epic tale,
And prepared his own shirt as a shroud.
He smiled and nodded as the boy rambled on.

On the fifth day the cries grew louder, less joyous, and he began to whimper for home.
“Home is just a little ways away,” said the cynic through sun-swollen lips.
“We’ll reach it in a moment, just keep waiting for that rescue.”
And the boy cried as his voice turned to dust and the melodies to ashes.
At last even his tears turned to air
And the pessimist wrapped him in the ragged shroud.

“If I believed in ashes, if I believed in dust, I would say something poetic
But since I do not, I will just let the sea take you.”
And with those words the first mate was alone.
He sat, his shoulders slumped, bare back to the sun,
And stared and wondered and sighed at his fate—
To be the last man in the world.