I remember the day I traded my humanity
for a bite of the apple you hold.
It tasted like a bittersweet flame
which engulfed my soul until I grew cold.
Now, the ecstasy of the apple is gone.
My eyes began radiating its own luminescence.
I rose from my grave and wafted back home
to finally justify my existence.
I brought back Prometheus’ fire
to the world I believed I held dearly.
But as the gates I forged begin to rust,
a ruthless void begins consume me.
I may have forgotten how sugar tastes like,
and gray is the only color I can still see.
But I can stomach such fragrant drought,
if I’d be able to remain free.
Or am I really free?