I bit into that watermelancholy,
I swallowed the black seeds of despair,
And worried about a watermelancholy growing within
Creating some apathy, but I didnít care.
I ate until I reached the medicore of the apple
Sunk my teeth in and sucked juices of the mundane
They dripped from my mouth
Onto my shirt, creating a nasty distain
In my kitchen, there was a canítalope.
I considered taking a bite,
I even attempted to steal a taste.
I couldnít, I gave up, but not without a fight.