for months, my river of words became wordless.
my, oh, infinite yet perpetual waterfall instead cascaded dirt, soil.
mother nature often wept by this sad waterfront as to me,
all things sweet and nice didn't exist for a while.
alike how stars in actuality are nothing but grand spheres of plasma,
the boy i liked was nothing but a boy now
and dear friends of mine, i realised, were probably just good actors.
still now, my mouth still feels seemingly dry
at the bitter taste of tampered cherry wine.
