Forbidden fruit is like a glistening apple that breeds worms in the mouth of its eater.
It entices you from afar. Swaying flirtatiously in the teasing breeze, as it hangs from the tree.
Dancing to the billowing wind.
An apple red and yellow, promising endless delight to the eater. To the taste bud. To the senses.
But I don’t want to pluck it.
Because I know in the day I eat of it, I shall surely die.
I will fall and my heart shall be torn in a million pieces.
And that which was once a fleshy fruit shall become as creeping crawling maggots in my mouth.
And I will fall to the ground in disbelief, of how something that enticed so magically,
something that hypnotised
could now be ‘death’ in my mouth. A bitter root and a bitter fruit.
So I walk on. And refuse to let my eyes linger a moment longer.
