Apple to Your Knife

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.