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It beats. And beats. Thumping and twitching away.
Pushing and pouring blood through my veins.
On and on for years beating with no purpose,
Becoming smaller, slowly wilting away.
No Love.
Dead useless thumping.
One day soon it will just fade away, unused and unknown.
Or maybe the pain will come first, before it has fully faded.
Just a prick to start out, a simple stab, like a needle,
A drop here and there.
More and More.
Needles to Razors.
Razors to Knives.
Knives to Saws,
Torturing and mutilating every artery until there are puddles of crimson forming all around.
Blades rip and tear away at the delicate muscle,
And with one last prick of the needle a final ounce of red spurts out into the air.
No more Beating.
No more Thumping.
No more Love.
Silence.
Beauty.