to be written in two colors

Wow, been a while since I posted a poem. Haven't decided whether the shadow is in a Jungian sense or more fantastic literal sense.

Hijacked
-
Happiness becomes a discipline when there has been no rest.
No blissful oblivion, no blessedly smothering darkness
blanketed my eyes, my dry eyes that could not close.
Crystalline tears formed and held acid rimmed eyelids
open to the not-black, the ghostly light that shouldn't-be
of a moonlit night with the curtains pulled.
And in that noir of half-dreaming and sleepless trance, it-

The morning is not bright.
(greylight scab-red curtains it weighs)
Her body is cold, it's never cold.
(my head down my eyes veiled it thickens)
Where there isn't light. Behind me, inside me.
(my voice thoughts are pain suspicious)
Her dream, her voice, it's absurd.
(or is it darkly true, tenebrous verity, I-)
am shadow through the dark glass
(Why am I mute? The world is frosted in smoke.)
I become I subsume I am shadow
(Despair. It is all I can manage: to breathe, weakly. My shadow is me.)