Apple of my Eye

Today I am born, my seed has been sown, my apple is new. Pain, suffering, desire, will rot me like the inevitably changing leaves all too similar to the flesh I find myself bound in. Forgetfulness to no fault of my own, through substances, be these intentional or banqueted, inevitable like the pulsation of these organs I find myself bound within. Forgetfulness be not the focus, although immensely prominent. Forgetfulness of the division of self and organism, forgetfulness of all purpose and intention, forgetfulness of my seed, and the inevitability of such a consign to oblivion. Be this the fate I’ve selected? I’m unfortunately unsure… For my seed has been nourished with the very poisons I speak of, and I remain a rot, a rotting source of decay. This decay lyes within my eyes, my apple is no more, and inevitably, I have forgotten, accepted complete consignment to oblivion, and here I lye, decrepit as the apple I once sought out to be.