The Wishing Well

Your face on the cover
all of your wishes reflecting the nothingness.
Empty eyes, voices around you
trembling
barely talking. The sun is gone,
plastic shines
over your skin. All of a sudden
a fly
knocking at your door.

Who is the stranger, who’s the thief?
You ripped out your own wings
craving for a new despair.
Over and over
again and again
you spent all your honey.
Empty pockets, broken soul
not a single gaze for Charon
not a coin for the wishing well.

-Francisco Benavides

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