Sour apples. Huh. I'd think you'd learn about dry
cries by now. They don't convince
anyone these days--least of all myself.
Still you try and push some moisture out.
Bitter grapes. You. Better to grasp
to truth of it now. We were all faking.
No one wants your health--especially not them:
Those you fucked without thought or remorse.
Rotten carrots. Food. Well, there's none now.
No water. Enemies at the door. Your door.
In hindsight you should have shared the key
rather than hide it. But what do they say? It's 20/20.