| Eris came to me at night and whispered in my ear
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| «You're getting boring, you’re getting old»
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| And as she left she placed a single golden apple
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| At the foot of my bed
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| I tried to go back to sleep, knowing it was futile
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| Until the fractured dam inside my heart burst forth again as it always does
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| I took a bite and it was mealy and it was bitter
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| Not at all how I expected
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| Such a beautiful thing to taste
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| The smell of burnt toast
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| Flooded my nostrils
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| Another mockery, another practical joke
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| And when I finished, core and stem and all, I just lay back and Waited for the
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| drama to begin
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| For my life to unravel
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| Crumble or capsize
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| To recede into obscurity and smolder in the shadows of your brighter,
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| bolder and far more fragrant blooms
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| They say inside all obsession is the seed of a wish
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| A prayer for absolution
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| From the pressures of the living
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| And so I spat the seeds out
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| And wrapped them gently in a cloth and tucked them tenderly beneath my
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| sweat-stained lumpy yellow pillow and slept for 30 years
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| And then another 30 more
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| Just waiting for the stem
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| To rupture through my skull
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| And free all the fluids
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| Free all the dreams
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| Draw in all the pity
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| Dam up all the streams but nothing grew |