The Pulp

I placed the fault upon others
when the seed resided within myself,
and when others cared enough to touch me
the pulp began to develop:
What started small and insignificant,
sprouted thorns and leaves, while I,
powerless to cease my own vegetation
became dependent upon an artificial fertilization.
What I thought was love - was poison.
I thrived on a toxin so exquisite, the taste
never quite left my recollection
Now it courses through my veins, like acid
rendering every feeble cell, contaminated. Well,
everyone knows the only way to kill the vine
is to trace it back to the roots, unfortunately mine
lay at the center of all my breaths and fruits:
the Heart, so be it.
I will be satisfied when the job is completed;
when I suffer from my own obsessions no more,
my body will be depleted.