oh how easy would it be
for my lies to be truths
all would be good and sweet
like eating ripened fruits

although aromatic, these are
definitely rotten from the core
would you dare take a peek
and see what lies in store?

there's an empty garden
the seeds are needed to fill it
someone needs to decorate
filling it with flowers or fruits
sweet, of course
that's my own garden

fly sweety
your eyes were made for wandering
but please stay homesick
for your bed will always be made
just in case you need some warmth
my fridge will hold your favourite fruits
                             I’ll keep them fresh forever
and according to the gravity of your mood
I have red and white wines to ease the night
countless candles and I’d love to make a bonfire
                           if ever you’re in need of light
for your heart  I’ll be a refuge
even if you flew
out of sight

I'm not really a hipster, but i can make your hips stir.
Not to seem down and *****
It's only four-thirty
But loving is good for you
Through all the things that come with it
Out of all the fruits you can consume
You would be the banana
Because i find you a peeling.

Take my fragile heart
Keep it safe I beg you.
Don't tear it apart.
But love it with care.
It will grow.
I promise.
It will give cover.
From the baking sun.
And the fruits.
Will we enjoy together.

Words that could bring fruits
And words that could bring poison
What kind of poison have I brought to you
They were sugarcoated poisons that sought to be fruits
Kept feeding you on this
However clueless can you be
You've grown fat with all this sugar
You took surprise and anger when you found out
I laughed at how long it took
Now you're dying from the poison
And the fruits lay near rotting

Yellow is what I am
happy is what I make you feel.

Use me, then throw me
and you'll trip by my peel.

I'm healthy, I'm sweet,
If in a hurry, I take seconds to eat.

All on my own, I'm a dish
but with peanut butter, I'm delic.

I'm good for your brain
I'm good for your heart

*There's a reason why monkeys are smart.

Jackal in his church pants,
Bad kid with punk jams,
Cramming nonsense in his conscience,
Skateboarding prophets,
Dividing light into chambers,
Bag of **** for his neighbors,
Turned into a living demon bleeding thru the paper,
Applesauce in the inside,
A coconut shell for the front,
Pineapple knives for the slaughtering,
Right into a strawberry's gut,

He was not a normal scorned, occulting youth,
But the lore of a regretful teen plaguing the afternoons,
Till that strawberry gut cracked his coconut noggin,
And shall he rest in bygones and Hanna-Babara monsters,