Deafening Silence

It beats,
It beats,
It keeps beating,
more fatigued with every pound.
With every pulsation I am a different person:
I am a little bit
older,
a little bit
fouler,
a little more
wasted.
It beats,
It beats,
It keeps beating
and establishing the rhythm of my existence.
At times, during mournful moonless nights
I find myself on my knees
begging,
craving the silence,
longing for the perpetual thumping to stop
Inexorably
measuring the time it takes me to
fall,
to lose and waste myself,
to wither like a daisy that bloomed too fast.
Other times I am
Terrified
of the silence
and I shiver at the mere thought
It might one day quieten and me,
Immense
Eternal,
dissipate into the bottomless oblivion
of what once was and never again will be.