The heart is a wicked and deceitful thing. It rages with the thunderous clang of a thousand Hellforged drums beating against the bones of our hollow chests.

It’s newborn cry is one of freedom, it’s fading whisper the promise of escape. It can offer us neither of these things.

In the valley of our desires, and upon the peak of our hopes, it sings to us of the things we shall do. The places we shall go. It raps upon the door of our soul offering to us that which we most crave, and we gaze upon it and see the utter sincerity of a child who believes that they won’t make the same mistakes again.

The intentions of our heart are earnest. Cloaked in an innocence that blinds us to the duplicity of its wants. A treachery so deep that the heart itself cannot sense it.

“Would I ever harm you?” It asks.

“Have I ever lead you astray?” It questions.

“If I want it this badly, it must be fate.” It coos.

The answer to these questions is yes. The statement itself a self indulgent comfort, wrapped around a self fulfilling prophecy.

Yet still we believe them. Still we carry on as wayward souls lead by the steady rhythmic march of our crimson conductor.

What are we to do? Can the cycle be broken? For when you cannot trust your heart, cannot trust yourself, who’s left to trust?