Time, or what's left, of it.
Fleeting moments, ever eluding; slipping, just out of reach.
Rend, and tear the heart asunder;
Overwhelm the tiny, palpitating vessel that which bears all emotion, little or large.
The poisoned heart grieves. Crystalline tears, unshed.
For all the off chord harmonies that life had to offer, loves, works,
Swept away it is, like the lone fishing trailer in a magnificent storm out at sea.
Off to nothingness, beyond the void.
What is birthed, returns, to the earth, eventually.
The dying heart weeps.
May this passing come, painlessly.
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The hospital ward's a forlorn place.
It's something, I'd never would, or want to, get used with.
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