Eyes Swollen Shut.

Eyes swollen shut, the moats of fleshy eyelids proof of the overflow of tears.
Something is altered in grief.
Something takes away the periphery of the world, the periphery of the body, and everything blends, charcoal-smudge-smoothly, into an amorphous mass of everything and nothing all at once.
The heart is mechanized, though it breaks and sputters, cogs grinding and faltering. It is broken.
The dust piles on the heart of grief, until someone carelessly wipes it away with a fingertip-quick word, and moisture of their breath causes rust to fester in the metal.
Crumble quicker, heart.
Falter faster, heart.
Stubborn ventricles, stop.