i wrote a bad poem

untitled (feels like the sun...)

feels like the sun is setting on my years
wait for that last ray of light
and then the darkness creeps in,
it's full of goblins and unholy fears.

so many years and no one to have; hold
all the couples laughing
i sit here and write alone,
growing wearier and decrepit; old.

it pains me much as you perhaps can tell
can't run from the coming night,
facing the future unknown,
living life as best as I can as well.

but my cold empty bed fills me with dread
no one there warming covers
what I'd give if my teddy bear,
old faithful that he is, was you instead.