Common nonsense

No longer do his ears hear the chirping of birds,
Sweet sounds of nothing have replaced them.
The unrelenting buzz of the hive will follow.

No longer does his tongue taste memories.
Instant beige sustenance should suffice.
And if not then so be it.

No longer does his nose smell particularly.
Be it a rose or a corpse,
That scent will pass.

No longer do his eyes see the future.
What is seen is what is in front of him,
Not one day forward, not one day back.

How much longer will his hands feel the cold?
The cold of her half of the bed,
The cold of the steel.