I am not quiet sure when it began,

the sorrow

the dread.

Much like a sinking ship, it started out slow,

and then came crashing down all at once.

Leaving no survivors.

The limbs gave in first,

becoming deadweight.

Soon followed the heart,

each pump weaker than the prior.

The mind was the last to go.

Poor thing,

trying so desperately to survive,

treading within countless memories,

gasping for air.

I remember the day I drowned,

I relieve its memory every night-somewhere after midnight.

Because only when the world is at its quietest,

can I hear my last gasp for air.