The wind knows me too well.

It slithers past my ears, whispering of things I never asked to know, but always longed to hear.
Another step, another step.
It coils around my heart, stealing my breath until spots dance before my eyes,
and I am dizzy. Whether my lungs want more air or more wind, I can't tell.

More wind.

It hisses through my writhing hair and
despite my instinct to recoil, I listen
Oh, why do I have to listen?

There's an apple shining in my hand.
There's an apple in my hand and discontent in my heart.
The wind makes me taste the world, and it's poison, it hurts,
I shout, I beg

**** me.

But the wind knows me too well.
It kills itself instead, leaving me with an apple and an empty world.
So alone, a torment and an open wound,
Another step, another step,

Another step.