My heart, it beats so quietly.
Irregular at times.
Sometimes it seems to skip beats.

A passion burns inside of me,
but I'm unsure what for.
I look for purpose in my heart.
I strain to hear it's muddied thumps
through thickened, blackened blood.

An engine drives me straight ahead,
but knows no way to stop.
For fuel it burns what it can find
it just leaves ash and smoke behind
but in pursuit of what?

I live, I take, I want, I need.
My heart is vanity and greed
but stopping it's pulse means death.