you burned me in the light with my eyes wide open. you told me lies fettered with the fat of illusion so that your sustenance would not affect me until after I had died. you grew wings of red pallor and soared above me, towering me with your ingratitude. you were a lie. you were disease. you were the coward I feared in myself and you were the chance I needed to be. Passivity, in return became my makeshift. I left passion out on the pasture, cutting off her knees, swearing her to chains, and leaving her in solitude as she spoke in tongues to the breeze. For months I left her sitting, dormant and alone. I denied my association to her. I dissembled my core. I took apart my puzzle and placated my soul by pretending passion was superfluous, her fumes too futile, toxic to the soul. but now that I am in the aftermath of the emptiness she has left, I realize her importance. I recognize her course. I am transfixed with the beauty of how passion lives in me. I come to life in her wake and her innocence overwhelms the lion I so feared her out to be.