i have lost track
of when the tears
went from joy
to loss
to frustration
then to hope
when i became
dessicated
bereft of liquid
and only stardust
fell down chapped cheeks

a grape
does not dream
of being
wine nor raisin
it hangs happily
part of the bunch
absorbing
each ray of sun
it is when
the greedy hands
pluck them
from the vine
that the rot
takes root

i have gone
spoiled
no sweetness left
to ferment
crushed carelessly
strained of pulp
the last drops
drip malignantly
leaving only
a stain
in the dreamwhispers
of evermore