Where The Pulse Should Be

A hollowed-out space
Precise, cut clean
As if something vital
Was removed

A vacant space
Where a pulse should hammer
A quiet, slow drain

Nothing will make a difference
The weight
Of what's not there
It deadens the air i breathe
Muffling every sound
Reaching me

The morning light
Falls on the floorboards
The city hums outside my window
It makes no difference

Not a wound that bleeds anymore
A well of quiet
I could fall
Forever