My heart is a mechanism over which I have no control
My heart is a weapon I use against myself
My heart is a conglomeration of mixed up emotions
My heart is a tattered and torn but still somehow beating vessel
My heart is a complete and utter paradox; it perplexes even myself
My heart is heavy artillery ready to open fire on me at any moment
My heart is a solitary device, driven only by its own selfish and foolish desires
My heart is a kindergarten craft project, held together weakly with superglue,
but each fragile piece created with care
My heart is the antithesis of progress,
the opposite of what I need to remain sane