The Quiet

It's quiet now, here in my room
I can only hear the hum of the air conditioning(which really isn't working well)
the creaking memory of my laptop
and occasionally, yes, occasionally the
subtle beating of my heart

This red, fleshy, mass has kept me alive all
these years, but sometimes I do wonder
is my heart a ticking time bomb?
Will it explode one day? Or, just stop entirely?
I'm probably a little strange thinking things like that. But,
I can't help it.

The beating of my fleshy mass rocks me to
sleep at night. Like a sweet metronome,
with a soul of its own. I listen to the hum-rum
until exhaustion kicks in, and, then at that point
I can no longer hear or see much of anything.

I float then, somewhere else
Where thoughts trickle down my cheeks like rain
and form puddles of dreams
Maybe, that's what death is like?
A neverending dream