My heart is a vestigial structure in my body. It beats with no purpose, pumping blood to ensure the survival of a human who has so long forgotten what life is meant to be like. Some claim they love with their hearts, but I do not even live with mine. Instead, it’s just a heavy weight holding me to this world, cursing me with an existence so cruel that even the air doesn’t want to support the vulgarity of my breath.

Yet, my heart beats.

It doesn’t understand the complexity it has caused by allowing my existence. Steady and set on it's goals, the heavy consistency of life is placed on my shoulders. My brain, powered by this loyal rhythm, questions every passing moment. Yet, even my head has managed to stay steady in it's constant pursuit of knowledge.

My body has fallen into the steady rhythm of life that it was so destined and designed perfectly for. It leaves me, then, as the sole flaw in this design. My soul has become the very desecretion of the Universe's miracle. Trapped within the security of these ebony towers, I have learned to live imprisoned to the steady thump of my heart and the constant sparks of my brain. Liberation of the soul is nearly impossible.

Many souls have learned to live within their prisons. I pass by them every day, wondering what it must feel like to never question the freedom of death. Because that's all there really is, isn't there?

And so I live. It's this placated constant between my prison and the simple beauty of disappearing into freedom. My soul remaining in a subdued kind of pain. My brain firing off distractions to keep afloat. And my heart, ever steady, proclaiming the curse of life into eternity.