I am the apple to your knife.

 

You cut me in different shapes

and mould me to your desire.

 

You peel my skin when you are angry

and soothe me with water for my wounds.

 

You stare at me like an art

and throw me away like garbage.

 

You drool over my taste when you eat

but spit my seeds when they caught your tongue.

 

You never asked if I was hurt

but continued to draw your art on my skin.

 

When I asked you why you never let me go

and you say, ‘You are my Art of Love.’

 

If I am your Art of Love

then you are my Nightmare of Love.