Well

for years you spat your words

into the well of me

and for the life of me 

i have been dredging them up

watering bitter roots

and drinking them down

accustomed to the taste of their poison

always that first sip sweet

as a memory created of 

things meant to be

of fate or destiny

but I have become dried up 

and tired 

a husk of wondering if there's

any me left

at the bottom of that well