there is an ache inside of me;
it occurs somewhere between the
moments of waking and sleeping.

there is something about letting go
that makes it so hard to do.

i am afraid to close my eyes.  
i am afraid to turn out the light.

i will prolong the inevitable as long as possible,
battling against the drooping eyelids,
battling against the heavy sighing.

another day is gone.
another tick mark on the wall.

i have done nothing.
i will remember nothing--in a few days, at least.
i will become nothing (but an empty shell, i'm assuming)

wasting  away
in the confines of my bedroom.
too afraid to go outside;
having grown so used to being alone
that the thought of spending time with another
does not even occur to me.

there is something so frightening about that thought.