Rotten fruit


I sat staring at the rotted fruit

Smelt the fetid citric scent

The blackened bananas

And mould covered plums

The soggy pears say their time is done

And as I sit reflecting on the fruit

I think of how this seems an apt metaphor

For me and you

Once ripe and delicious in truth

But now past its best

And leaving behind an acrid smell

Of rotten essences and an ugly sight

No memory now of how beautiful it was when all was ripe

And how the colours adorned this house this home

That now is just a building in which I dwell alone.

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