Peices of me have slowly been eaten away,
Chewed at, some swallowed and the bits to bitter for people to taste ;
spat out, cast aside, left rotting on a single plate.
As more an more peices have been taken away
I came to realise that all that is left is my core.
Inside of me, is either a desire to live,
or the opportunity to die.
I don't know why really realistically I choose to give
The one seed that was left inside this apple a chance to grow.
Because even as I try to make myself into a new apple,
Little peices are again, being consistantly bitten off
And thus the cycle is beginning again...
How much I can let people hurt me,
How much I can let what crawls away inside me take from me..
Is entirely up to me,
I can only decide my future. No one else can really help me.
If I am to keep falling from the tree, Every crack which comes about
Can either let something out, or take something in..
Now, i don't know what is best..
But at least I don't have to make the cracks myself.
An apple, can just roll away, become unimportant.. desintigrate into the ground..
All it needs is that one right moment not to be an apple anymore.
