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, to ignore me.
You now cut me as if I were an over-ripe nectarine, hardened skin, soft flesh.
You press on my skin with your rusty diseased blade and finally I give way and so 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.
I am damaged forever never to be savoured or re-planted. I will bear no more fruit for anyone and now lie open, unwanted, flesh exposed, my life flowing away from the tainted, crumb covered, rancid dish cloth strewn sideboard, dripping onto a dusty red quarry tiled filthy floor.
My sweet liquid – now forming a ceyance around your discoloured, discarded, dirty, degenerated, and dogged cigarette butt, as my nectar mixes with the vile saliva-infected 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.