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Wishing Well

At the bottom of the wishing well,

Were all the things I remembered.

The whimsical stories you asked me to tell,

And all of the things you never heard.

At the bottom of the wishing well,

Your words are but a memory;

Of all the bullshit you tried to sell.

What I bought was misery.

At the bottom of the wishing well,

Is where I cast the stone;

To a place where learned lessons dwell,

And the memory of you is only bone.

By Jessica Doland