The fruit has ripened

With decay

The brown skinned face of the orange

The peeling insides, green and white

When that orange tells itself

With undying clamor

Everyone I know is a whore

It sees the world full of ugly food

Ready to be swallowed

By the masses

Picked and chewed and splintered

But the orange will not be eaten

It dies inside

With its moldy splendor

It watches as the chicken

Healthy as it can be

Reduced to skin and bone

Reduced to


Hollowed and broken and thrown away

The orange wonders if it will end up like that

But it sits

It wonders

It stares

As all the food are picked apart and ripped apart and scattered apart

Inside the fridge

Where the sexual deviants live

Keeping them alive

Keeping them frigid

With the frost of early morning

Freezing their hearts

Freezing their fingers and bones

Making their holes inside their eyes

Desecrated and raped

With emptiness

With the satisfaction

Of an orgasm

And nothing else

Has ever made them happier