The Fruit

Crush my heart to pulp between your fingers; I’ll smile through the blood in my teeth and ask you to do it again, harder this time.

I’ve realized it doesn’t matter if I make love to the wrong person with my words.

The words don’t care. They want to be written either way.

Either way, I’ll bleed.

We’re all on a collision course with Death, and I want to meet Her fully, unashamed and decadent.

I’ll be the fruit, too sweet and gone to rot, tumbling from the branch.

Do it. Indulge me one last time, baby.


– Sara Myriad


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