the pavement glitters
with freshly fallen snow.
yet, the air tastes strangely bitter;
tainted by rotting mistletoe.
tinsel hangs heavy upon the tree.
the season is joyfully ceremonious,
and choirs sing blissfully on-key
so
why
do
i
feel
such
loneliness?
because—
i've come to expect gifts that are haphazardly
thrown together.
but it's not too bad. everyone stares at me compassionately
while they titter about the weather.
(they're wearing diamonds, of course)
so ring your bell
and play with your toys.
i'll just be here acting the part of the infidel,
while you premeditatively apologize.
—chronically forgotten
