The Never-ending Days of Dying

The days when you don't know where sadness begins and ends,
The air holds still and heavy...
You don't know where fatigue starts and where sleepiness ends,
where hunger and anger meets;
You lie there,
wide-eyed and gasping silently,
watching:
how emptiness of the heart slowly but surely eating away the heartbeat.
The rhythm of the heartbeat slows and quickens, irregular and panicky.
Cold sweat gathers in the heat of the balmy hours.
Your palms sticky with weariness,
the running tap wouldn't and couldn't wash it away.
You can't wash yourself away.
Or wish your existence away.
No.
No.
No.
You just lie there,
wide-eyed and suffer in silence.
It's 3am.