It all started when I was seven after making a decision to eat eight apples with the core

It made me weak and my stomach lurch, leading ultimately to ***** all over the floor

That urge showed up again not long after when I decided to runaway alone

I got picked up and brought to a place that one could call a dead zone

If I had any sense it was lost tens years past

My life is simple, until it’s not and then it’s a nice contrast

If I spill beet juice on the sheets it turns into mess that wounds his heart

When he bleeds on the sheets it doesn't resemble the juice, and a mess is now art

It all started with a knife and an apple to slice, a waiting voice to persuade

My stomach churned while the hand twitched causing me to miss, but he met my blade

Such a sweet fruit
Such a sweet life
Will it stain my knife?