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where there is none,
day wears out and night is come
it's Christmas cruel
more cold more than snow.
Really there's no snow to see
melted in the deep heat rage,
leaving only ice hidden 'way
to capsize the unwary.
I guess Norman Rockwell got all the snow.
At school they tell us children dreams,
but Christmas at home is nightmares
as he rips the ornaments off the tree
throws them across the room,
a million pieces of shiny glass
that glint and cut and hurt so good
when the red comes out like Christmas.
Holidays have longer nights
to beat and rage and cut and fight,
to pound and drink and kick and fuck.
Really there's nothing special 'bout holidays.
Probably I wouldn't know what to do
if they were different.
Now is different.
beaten, kicked, drunk and fucked,
small voices work the pen.
Pummelled and kicked,
writhing and twisting
to reject her truths.
She shatters to a million pieces
that glint and cut and hurt so good.
It's not so bad when the blood comes out red
1 hour ago