Stitched Lies

This is sort of a story poem.

A lie lays before me
lonely and cold.

So I make another, and put them side by side.

They sense each other, and soon inseparable they became, like a woman and her lover.

They stay together even though it hurts.
Feeding and growing'
the stitching must it hurt.
Their love is pain, and it must go on, so they grow another.

Another young son,
he takes the pain, feeling its truth.
So he breeds a tree, a bitter fruit.

He takes a bite, tasting its tartness.
His mouth turning up, spitting its bluntness.

The seed was there, laying in spit.
Disgusting as it was, he knew where it'd fit.
So he dug a hole, and placed it there.
Watching it grow into a shapely pear.

He bit this one, relishing its taste
trying to face it delicious grace.

The apple of his eye, this lucky try.
So this is what it's like to be born from a lie.

Author's Note

It's a story, but can you figure it out?