the air is cold now, so cold
that it feels like burning.
this is no accident.
there is a thin layer
of ice on the windshield, and
I am not being shielded
from much, but
that's okay. give me
the seeds of an apple,
or two. they do not grow here.
it is cold and
I am burning.
give me your hand, give me
the seeds of an apple.
life and death are
so close, aren't they?
so close that you can almost
taste them, almost
feel them sprouting
under your skin.
give me the seeds
of an apple, or two.
if I swallow enough I might
die, or I might live.
both are a gamble.
give me the seeds
of an apple, or two.
they will not grow here,
this is no accident, but
neither is it an accident
that I am burning, or
that so many sweet fruit contain
cyanide, at the centre.
so many sweet things contain
cyanide, at the centre.
this is a metaphor for something
sweet.
