peach, plum

apple pie

used to be the apple

of your eye

but those days are gone now

aren't they,


silly little me

too naïve to sense

the danger.

You picked the perfect peach

ripe and plump, a little warm

ran the fuzz along my cheek

made me feel like

i belonged.

but then I watched in horror as

peach held at arms length

your hand, it clenched

the peach was now pulp, and my heart

spilled juice while

the peach bled in terrible

red red red

streaky tears that

ran down your arm as you laughed and

stained you.

i hope it doesn't wash out.