Son of Man : René Magritte, 1964

I am an apple,
Bruised up inside.
Love to my core
That I can’t really hide.

I am an apple
You wanted to own.
Now when I need you
I’m always alone.

I am an apple,
A crumble of stuff
Eaten up, passed by
It gets pretty tough.

I am an apple
Left in the bowl.
My heart it is rotting
Like a maggot’s small hole.

I am an apple.
But I can’t go on.
You were my pair
And this was our song.