The Making of a King
The tree I fell from was rotten. It's leaves were rotten, it's bark was rotten, and it's roots were rotten. Unfortunately, I am an apple that didn't fall far from that rotten tree. I was groomed in the shadow of that rotten tree and sprayed with poison to ensure I would be nothing but it's germinated seed.
My earliest memories are dark and painful. My most vibrant memories are coated in crimson red and shame. The small pieces of my soul that I kept hidden and protected are the only parts of myself I can tolerate. The rest of who I am... The despicable trash that haunts my dreams... I hate. Death is the only answer to my life. Not love. I don't deserve love.
A tainted apple is never put amongst the ripe juices apples. It is thrown away, discarded... As I should be.