The apple sits
slaughtered and jagged
across the pale blue table,
it’s captor has gone
yet the weapon remains
a blade of iron
cold and still
in the belly of it’s mark

This heartless child
(slayer of fruit)
cuddles to the beasts of night
the doubt and pain that dig
she welcomes readily
to melt the empty space
with cavities of flame
but at least it’s something more.

The apple remains forgotten
this violent task unfinished
as the raised echoes
of angry words
stay to line the hall.

A broken-hearted murderer cries
to the sound of static radio
drowning out each quiet sob
with a mask of opened scars
she swore it wouldn’t happen
but it’s everything she knows
yet the apple waits
and waits and waits
Till “someday’s” luster dies.