Wanderlust

How unsettling it can be,
To listen to those quiet moments.

-Tick-
Time almost stops.
-Tock-
Motionless;
Still.

Listening to the humming buzz,
Of a fading pulse.
Drowning within restricted veins.

The whirling, droning,
Echoing;
Pounding inside my ears.

How the mind taunts,
Mimicks,
That of a broken record.
Skipping, haunting;
Echoing itself on repeat.

You begin to question yourself,
Within those small moments of time,

"Have I arrived too early?
Should I patiently wait?"

Or should I instead,
Bow my head into misery,
Whisper to myself,
Upon gently folded hands and say,

"It's too late, you fool,
You've already missed the damn train."

...It's the waiting that kills me...