Metaphorical

darkness becomes me 
it's silence and lack of clarity 
it's empathy from whispered voices 
when the dead come to visit 
I sleep only in small doses 
my own screams awaken me to moving shadows 
and the chill of their presence 
dazed knowledge of being touched 
which I dismiss when the Sun arrives 
yet the darkness becomes me 
in a sordid kind of way 
I muddle through the vacant day 
smiling when I want to plea 
for anyone to look and see 
that I await the coming night 
with urgency to dim the light 
like an actor's role he cannot put down 
or the painted smile of a dying clown 
there is nothing more odd 
yet meant to be 
a fixture in this darkness 
that so becomes me