Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Passion Over Pride (Art and Writing from the Archives, Part V)




Withered and worn in perfect fashion, my heart sings as it swims. A bubbly meringued pipsqueak, my heart is a dance. Diving and screeming my chest hurts like a plasm caged gig, a recital of selections just perfect for me and designed for you.

Some times I feel like I should create a disappearing act, something to mimic my own intention, my heart has grown to big for even me.

The pain will never be as powerful as my passion.

I cant be hurt, I cant lose. Everything I actualize, everything I pursue; alters into magic. I sense fear and I breathe, because I rely on the big plan.

Love.


Love.

Love.
Love .

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