Rotten Fruits and Withered Flowers

by Ines Makuza & Luther.O | Apr 3, 2018

Born at the roots of hate


We grow fruits

That rot, endlessly

Brown from the edges to the center, horrendously

We’ve been picked, and prodded and poked

With no decency

Till we’re nothing but rotten

No longer sweet

Nor desired

We cannot become flowers

That bloom in the sun

Because we know not what care is

For we only received fantasy and thought

The touch of our skin, nobody ever sought

We never feel the necessary love

From the air around or the sun above

That can let us bloom

And that is why the more and more we abuse the beauty that is

I and my fellow fruits are doomed for the tomb