Walls wilted; house of cards crumbled
onto streets plagued by the lack of things.
Slurry slithered across concrete,
That protruded slightly over the glossy cityscape.
Cemented trees sprang across the street with an unnatural sturdiness.
smothering the little air left between, behold the abode of nothingness.
Gaudy brothels with lanky crops ready for the seasonal harvest,
Squeezed dry of childhood dreams huddled in torn rags.
Flies, hovering like death birds over unclaimed tots and drunkards
engulfed by shadows, like living corpses.
I watched them from above, since no one else did.
I sat by the creaking hole, that let in a glint of light,
As my corroding ceiling let way to trinkets of muddied liquid falling,
painfully slow.
Painfully slow like my stomach collapsing on itself.
Hunger is a spell,
it could reduce an apple to bones,
play tunes that sounded sweet to loan sharks,
make famished vehicles run without fuel, what irony.
Half-dazed, I was awoken from my dreadful slumber
by him with a kiss like sugar, like his name no doubt!
I was the 'apple of his eye' he said.
His touch felt like smooth notes, and his eyes glittered like silver coins.
I liked it, I did,
until one day I felt nauseous. It itched the back of my mind like gusts of fresh air.
He bit my snow-white skin, firm and juicy like the insides of an apples,
Leaving it red as its peel, but I could not
It tasted less sweet, bland, lusterless.
So, I asked for more,
something other than the sickening sweetness.
A little sour, salty, bitter spice that left a lingering warmth from the heat.
It never came.
He sucked out my sweetness each night,
until one day, he felt sick too.
He was sick of apples.
perhaps he wanted the fresh grapes,
from the Mediterranean,
or the juicy mangoes of the east.
He did not come,
And left me back in my slumber, a repulsive ball of mass, rotting.
