Eating passion

Honesty. Lie.

Let it flow from you like an open wound. Bleed your passion across the page.

“I’m alive and still kickin’…”

Tears burn brighter than the largest candle.

I want you to crumble with the ache of love, the evisceration of abandonment, the spinal tap of achievement. How does it feel? Like an apple or orange? No, your passion cannot be eaten so easily.

“Sick of the tension, sick of the hunger, sick of you acting like I owe you this…”

Spearhead your life with action.

Cow stuck out-to-pasture: get up! Lift your head from the field and breathe the air. Break the fence and feel your muscles tense!

“You gave up on your dreams along the way…”

So refreshing it is to speak. No more scripts. Look me in the eye and rip me open. You cannot do it. Honesty is more painful than the morphine-drip of a lie.

I climb. I suffer. I will eat my passion and suffer the barbs of truth that shred my skin. If only…Never again “if only…”!

One chance. One time. One day. One minute. One.

Do it right. Eat the durian.