Hyperbole: The Fruitiest Metaphor

First, you took a lush and luscious young grape,
Ripe-to bursting with sweetness,
Known FAR and WIDE as “The Prettiest of too many bunches to count,”
And you proceeded to drain her of her essential precious moisture,
Allowing her to retain only the barest minimum to avoid literally DYING OF THIRST.
Then you Forcibly Relieved her of the weight and shape of her own Privately Imagined Possibilities (which should be a crime, in my opinion),
Until you reduced her into a wizened and decaying micro-pebble of a half-raisin’s shadow
Within a matter of WEEKS!
In fact, she’s currently so unbearably stale, no one wants her anymore.
Sadly, throughout the entire time she’s officially “Been A Raisin” and “Qualified as a Raisin,” she’s been stale.
I don’t know the macro-answer to Why It Happens, I only know that I’ve never come into contact with a Fresh Raisin personally.
Have YOU?
No, I didn’t think so.
Because Fresh Raisins are “Oxymorons” in human flesh.
I thought I was supposed to do a poem on “The Outcomes of Harsh Aging Practices on Grapes of Premature Age,” and instead I’m teaching Freshman English!