My heart is a dull thud in my chest. 
Drained from all life, it struggles to beat 
once, 
twice,
three times. 
It’s numb 
and hollow, 
despite the distant and weak, 
thud,

thud, 
thud.  
Even though it’s damaged,
it tries it’s hardest to keep me alive. 
I wish it would give up. 
Give up finally. I’ve been living for too long, 
and my heart knows that too. It has to.
How can my heart not just collapse
and give out now? 
For so long 
it’s made feeble attempts 
to keep me breathing. 
Broken and overworked to exhaustion 
because I’ve put it through hell and back. 
Break ups, fights, anxiety, depression, low self-esteem, self-harm, suicidal thoughts. 
My rotted mind creeps in and snarls, 
“You should die already.” 
Maybe I’ll give into it. 
But how can I not hear my heart screaming, 
“Don’t give up!” 
My heart has done so much for me. More than I could’ve asked for.  
More than I wanted. 
Its cry is drowned out by the steady, even if empty, thump
of itself. 
Drowned out by my mind taking over me. 
It steps on my heart 
and forces it quiet. 
No matter how hard it tries,
my heart cannot rescue me 
from my mind. 
For fifteen years I’ve 
abused it beyond repair, but even still, 
it thuds for me, 
ever determined.