I ate the apple
I left the garden.
Blame me.
But I’m sorry.
I will stop.
I will sit here until I forget
why I’m waiting
and who I’m waiting for.
The needles left only scars
the scars are fading
I stopped this time I promise.
My blue skin, transparent will gain color
eventually.
But I’m sorry.
I will stop.
I will rest on this blue plastic seat
wrinkled from use
rusted along the sliver edges
cracked from the cold.
I will wait years for you.
Spinning in circles
watching the cars go by.
Hundreds of coffees
black with three packets of sugar.
Caffeine to fuel my new addiction.
Perhaps you will find me
smelling like greasy bacon
fried hamburgers, stale milk.
Maybe you will recognize my face
my puffy eyes, shaking fingers.
I ate the apple
I left the garden.
Blame me.
But I’m sorry.
I will stop.
Featured Image Credit: Thammie Cascales[