I get angry when sad,
cries like throwing darts.
I never really aimed,
hit only by mistake.

But with you,
you made me try
with you was knifes,
your body the apple.

I wanted to cleave,
your chest in two
halfs of an apple,
split like me.

See your clockhouse,
never cared for time,
promises are old seeds,
never coming up.

Now you're wrinkled.
Fallen from the tree,
kicked around by life,
but still the same.

Apples go bad,
faster when in two.
Turn back the years,
to safe us a little time.