Crush

I held an apple in my hand
I saw myself in it
It reflected light like a polished stone
So glossy and beautiful
I violently smashed it against the cold floor of reality
Until my hands were broken and bloody
Disfiguring it until all that remained was the viscera that once made it up.
Its all fake
My perception of self
My perception of others
And my perception of the apple
A stone would never be so easily destroyed.
I rebuild the apple
Piece by piece
I strip it of everything that it isn't
To create something that really is
But all I'm left with is a pile of unrecognizable mush
And two broken hands