Until Whenever

I can't feel my head, like it's swimming through Novocain, and my trailing fingers can't find the surface to breathe. I can't feel my heart, like it's giving up on me and my senseless ways, and my arteries and veins can't control it or pump enough blood to resuscitate it. I can't feel my lungs, like it's too much for them to handle, and they're giving up on trivial things like circulating air through their pathways.

I can't feel my thoughts, or my heartbeat, or my breathing. I am living in the nothing, with the Novocain dreams, and the empty vital sign pillows, and the breathtaking blankets.

I can feel your hand take mine as you pull me close, walk me step by faltering step toward the road marked Whenever. I can feel the words swirl around my sarcophagus of a head as you whisper,

"Don't let go."

And I step a little closer into your frame as we walk.