Black Night

It used to be my favorite time of every day.
When the light that illuminates all of my misdeeds subsides
And a pale offering, casting shadows takes its place.
I picked up a second wind that cared not for the many hours of strenuity that preceded.
The night was, for lack of a better metaphor, my playground.
Oh, the history we share.
It’s a good thing that it is very good at creating and keeping secrets.
But too often, upon recent reverie, it has begun to betray me.
My once trusted comrade now preys on what I used to hold dear.
My mind is wasteful in the day but outright damned by night.
The clarity that I used to receive, has never come again.
Thoughts go from flame to sizzle all before the clock's second hand slams forward.
I go from fatigue upon waking, to dragging lassitude, as I find no footing in consciousness.
Nothing is getting accomplished anymore.
Nothing is stimulating.
Maybe being soulless has finally caught up with me.
At least I can take comfort in knowing that the darkness will fall again.