Vonnegut.

What is this?

Life, or something like it?

The best I have is a phantom feeling of how the rest of the world lives.

Most hearts beat freely, but mine can't seem to keep time.

There is a dark metronome tucked into the back of my mind.

'tick. tick. tick. tick.'

My heart beats stay in line. 

I used to hear my head calling to my heart.

Reminding it to wake every morning so we may rush into the world

and start to live like we should. 

My brain doesn't get out of bed in the morning.

My heart is shrouded in a sadness over losing its companion.

Direction-less it beats now.

The pattern flows from slow and quiet

to knocking the wind out of my lungs with it ferocity. 

It hurts more than it helps.

Some days I wish my heart would stay in bed.

Let the entirety of my being rest and float away to a world where

everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

Everything hurts.

Words weigh so heavily.

(Silences are even worse)

Gestures can kill.

Glances can curse.

The rest of me is waiting.

The lungs are holding in the breath.

The ears are reminiscing in the sounds I hold dear.

The eyes clenched so tight that their eyelids have lost all color.

The hands grasp on to one another...

Waiting for the heart to take its rest.