"Here, I have an apple for you."
(See, I told you a lie)
You take the apple.
(A rope, between you and me)
To look closely you bring it up to your eyes.
(Rope fastens around the neck. Yours and mine)
After carefully examining it you bring a knife and start cutting.
(Making a noose, I slowly tighten it)
You take a piece and I, half.
(I can see you struggling as I close my hands around your neck)
You take a bite and smile.
(You eyes reddening, nostrils flaring, hands fighting mine)
Chewing, smiling, chewing, smiling.
(The rope, tight around our necks, keeps cutting into your flesh and I keep mounting pressure)
"It's very sweet", you say. I nod unknowingly.
(I sense that you want me to let go, that it is hurting you. I know. Believe me. I want to let go. Yet I can't.)
"Do you want another piece?", you ask. I nod, knowingly.
(I can feel it. The blood running down your nape and mine. Mingling with your tears.)
"Beware of its seeds, it contains traces of cynaide, you know", you say. "I do", I say as you finish the apple.
(You, on your knees. Me, looking through your eyes. Sobbing and enjoying.)
You thank me. "I need to feed others too", I move on.
(I never had an apple. The rope was real. Your suffering was too.)