P.o.t.D. 12/6/16

Am I a shadow?
Draining the life out of all,
Like an undead shade?

Or a vampire..?
Born from sickness, sapping strength,
Afraid of sunlight...

Caught up in morbid reflection again,
Yearning for jovial times,
When youth's abandon
Had me playing games 'til sunrise...

Wishing for coffee and conversation
About the French House commons,
Or even cigarettes in the dark
After an AA meeting.

"Is it so hard to pick up a phone?"
When I've been sapped of strength
From long, hard hours at work,
Or I feel I'd be an imposition -
That phone feels more like a chore
Than like a chance to soar.

So, I pen poems in the witching hours,
Not sure if they make much sense,
Ever reminding myself,
"It's a challenge,
To see if you can write!"
Honestly, I don't think I can...

Heck, I'm not too sure I can talk -
Always left behind, in the group.