The Rotten Apple

The Rotten Apple

I held the fruit,

Turning it in my hand,

Feeling the weight of choices,

Heavy as the night around me.

The skin looked fine,

Shining under a weak moon,

Yet something whispered wrong,

A quiet warning in my bones.

I bit the edge,

And tasted the truth,

Rot curled in its heart,

Cold as forgotten sins.

I stared at the darkness,

Wondering how it spreads,

A small bruise in a corner,

Growing into a grave.

I thought of people,

How some hide their decay,

Smiling through the poison,

Pretending they are whole.

The apple fell,

Rolling into the dirt,

Like a secret finally broken,

Like a lie losing its breath.

I walked away slow,

Carrying the lesson with me,

That beauty can be hollow,

And sweetness can be fake.

The orchard faded,

Trees bending low,

As if they too remembered,

What rot can do to a soul.