9/13
it is late and it has just started to rain and i am peeling open a pomegranate. i crack open the thick skin and my fingers pierce into the thin and silky flesh that is hiding the ripe fruit from my hungry eyes. i peel it back and place it in the pile that has just started to grow.
there are layers upon layers and my thumb is growing weary because i refuse to waste a single seed. the bright red juice glistens on my skin and it gushes down my bare arms and into my lap. i dont bother wiping it away. the echos of the rain are filling my empty ears with a harsh pitter patter and it is late and i have finished seeding my fruit and yet i cannot find my appetite in any of the seeds laying in front of me.
instead, i turn and i look at the droplets running down my window and suddenly they are mocking the tears pouring from my eyes.
is this what you saw when you cut me open and devoured me raw?
the sky is sobbing and the thunder flickers in my window but suddenly i cannot hear the rain any longer.
this night, i am tearing out the seeds from the flesh of the fruit.
i gouge my fingertips into its insides and they are starting to break. the palms of my hands are starting to stain red. everything is bleeding red. all i can see is red.
i relish in the mangled mess ive made and this time, it is almost embarrassingly decadent.
it is vulgar and sensual and violent.
i hear the rain storming down in tandem with my rage, and i bend down to eat my fruit.