you thought the transaction was between
you and the rule.
you and the fruit.
you and the money in your account.
you and your own wanting.

you were wrong.

there is always a third party.
the consultant in the garden.
the advisor in your ear.
the algorithm in your feed.

their product is not the apple, but the ache for it.
their profit is not your money, but your complicity.
they design the drought just to sell you the rain.

and when the bill comes due,
and the light falls on what you’ve done,
you will stand alone,
holding the empty package,
while they are already
whispering in another ear.

in every scam, sorry,
in every sin,
there is a third party.

not a ghost, not a demon,
but an architect.
a salesman of thresholds.
a voice that says the door is forbidden
because it knows you now
need to know what's behind it.

it never touches the fruit.
it only names it.
it never breaks the rule.
it just questions the one who made it.

and when the bite is taken,
it is the first to point the finger,
its work already complete,
already fading back into the ecology
to find its next client.