The heart pounds, the building pressure pumps tears outward til they pool precariously at the eyelid's edge. It's difficult to swallow, hair stands erect but the skin perspires. Color drains from the knuckles. The diaphragm forgets... to contract, the lungs... suffocate... from negligence. Patience is a lost cause, it has desiccated like the mouth. Nothing to sustain it, no more words to say.
by Argentine Tango
Bone? Heart? Mind? It's difficult to determine the source, as the dissonance seems global. And yet, the sand falls grain by grain, funneled through the hourglass just as it always has.