Your wishes are fishes on dishes, you are now Doctor Seuss. You're dead.
I wish I had a talent that would make me famous.
I wish I had a talent that would make me famous.
You will listen to it too much that you'll get sick of reality and have a miserable rest of your life.
Granted, but your nation eventually becomes choked up with bureaucreatic problems.
I want to live forever with eternal youth and health.
You become immortal and are forced to watch all your friends and loved ones age and die so that all you have to write for the rest of infinity are angsty poems the emo kids will steal and post on Tumblr as their own.