Fruit - a poem

Ok, so I'm doing my utmost to be better about dating when I write a poem. I don't remember what day I did this one, but it came out of relationship issues. There are few feelings worse than knowing something is about to end or on the verge. Trying to make sense of what went wrong is near impossible. Especially when you are in the middle of feeling the pain. It's typically only later that things tend to make more sense. If at all.


Fruit

Remember how ripe and new it all was?
A sweetness,
a discovery of sorts?
When does the fruit go bad?
After you've forgot it's there,
Behind the milk,
or the lettuce,
it starts to smell.
Don't take it out for fear it'll
be worse outside the fridge,
in plain view,
moldy and grey
crowding the nose,
reminding you of neglect,
and abandon.
But,
if it wasn't what you wanted,
why did you hold on?
Why did you carry it through the store,
caring for it above all others?
It seemed so limitless,
so new,
so sweet.
It promised to be pleasing with each bite,
and satisfying until the end.
When fruit goes bad,
its usually to late to save it.