My fingertips are stained
With the bittersweet of
Onions
I broke them this morning for hours, just
Left to right, up to down I was
Shattering spheres, reducing the fragile
Layers of skin into uneven silk shards
Exploited, exposed those uniform corpses
Down to the pan they go
Genocide
There’s something about an
Onion - something no one can explain
That crisp feeling after you bite
Like your tongue is electrocuted with its
Flavor, life it burns so sweet and spicy
Not one is the same, to each their own taste of
Revenge
Now my fingers are stained
With the blood of the flesh
Of the heart and the skin
Of the sweet and the sour
The flavor, the flower
Consumed and forgotten
Their shells on my floor
Lifeless, unloved my sweet
Onions they go
The memory of
Your layered lives stain my
Fingertips
My knife lies forgotten
I envy your
Taste