end of world

my mechanical heart pumps screws.
i hear them churn
in my veins, the sound splitting through
the interior of my eardrums
so that i am deaf to all but it.
i don't feel cold. they always said i would feel it but i don't.
just one eternal season of stillness.
solitude.
not your ordinary loneliness, the obit should say
if we were really being honest.
it was a case of singular loneliness,
the particular absence of you.