When you picked me, you had the choice of so many.
All you had to do is use me as I wanted to be used, and not commit the worst sin, casting aside. You now cut me as if I were an over-ripe nectarine, burst skin, exposed soft inners.
You press on me with your rusty bacterial blade and finally I give way
You clumsily slice through my flesh to the core of my creation and stop with jerk,
sliding off to the right to meet yet more flesh.
Am I damaged forever never to be savoured or re-planted?
Will I bear no more fruit for anyone and now lie open, unwanted, exposed and bruised?
my life flowing away from the tainted, crumb covered, rancid stained sideboard, dripping onto a dusty red quarry tiled cracked floor.
My sweet liquid – now forming a seance around your discoloured, discarded, dirty, degenerated, and dogged cigarette butt,
as my nectar mixes with your vile dna and nicotine on the filter – unable to heal.
You callous consciously caved, calculated and cocooned carnivore with no love for the beauty and health that I offered.
The flesh that you destroy will consume you in time, but I really hope it doesn’t
As vengeance only leads to a spade digging two holes.
©PEDRO-BATPOET 2018
Pedro Batpoet 