Save Yourself

You want passion,

or so you say.

Without an understanding

of what passion is.

You want it when he kisses you,

anytime both of you touch.

You want it in his voice

when he says: I love you so much.

You want it in the look.

You it in the lie he tells you

when he says before you

he was never in love.

You want it in the way you fuck.

You want passion,

or so you say.

But you do not know

of what passion is made.

Passion is the perfect storm

consuming everything,

including itself.

It is the most destructive

beautiful thing.

It’s like tearing at the fabric of life

one piece at a time.

Until you face a whole new world.

It will always be the most beautiful thing

if you never see the destruction you left behind.

It remains the most beautiful thing

until the day the passion wanes.

And you begin tearing at the fabric again.

Do you still want passion?

Or do you want to save yourself?