Somewhere, near the
core of me,
I've gone numb.
You can carve me up
and I won't feel a thing;
now when I delve inside for pips
I come up 

Apple, apple,
you are wise:
Will I wither or bear fruit?
Am I even alive,
or one big bruise
under my skin?

When I say I don't know,
I mean that.
I've been cored,
and there's a hole where
the answers are supposed to be.

(C) 2014 by Rosetti C.
Translunary Things
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