Half-Life

What is this I am doing?
Can you call it living?
I work I sleep
I cry in frustration
at the bus stop,
between the two.
I lie alone in the dark
waiting for you to
allow my heart your presence.
This half-life of waiting
and working
mindlessly
is working
against me.
I am withering.
Is this living?
Only something alive can die,
so I must not be dead yet.