and I still remember 2005
the blood red and blue purple ink stains across the star strewn sky
and the patches of charcoal shadow which smothered the morning
and it was then I wished (almost guiltily) that Jesus had been aborted
to save us all the heartache of another lonely christmas

but it came and went and here we are again

"I'll be home for Christmas" floats softly from the radio
but you never made me promises like that, and eventually I stopped hoping
yet I'm still standing under the mistletoe with the receiver pressed cold against my ear
numb from the constant buzz of the dial tone
and too much whiskey burning through my veins
you always liked to keep me waiting because I hated endings
but this time, the suspense is killing me

the tinsel shines and glitters gold
but underneath there are only dead tree branches and withered leaves
nursing broken hearts wrapped in silver dusted paper
I ignored the red ribbons lacing the boxes
because "do not cross" was always written on yellow
but we were still suicide
even though our defeat bled differently against the dying horizon

I don't think you heard me when I whispered
"merry fucking christmas" into the dead receiver