The Summer Blackberries

I am holding my future in my hands
Like summer blackberries
That have been gathered so painstakingly
Behind the brambles
And the thorns.
They rest here in my fingers.
The skin just barely breaking open,
The color seeping into skin,
Dying the cracks around my fingertips.

I could eat them.
I can already feel the bitter on my tongue,
And the sweet waves in my throat.
I can taste what I hope it to be.
And I know no loveliness like
That artless temptation.

I could crush them.
The chunky juices exploding
Into gorgeous crimson black,
That bleed through the gaps of my hand.
And I know no ecstasy like
That of perfect destruction.

I cannot do both.
I must chose what I must.
But either way,
They will be destroyed.