O old Gods who wait in morrow, let me shine in sacred sorrow
I proffer, and offer, my marrow, bone, flesh, to thine altar borne,
lone in meeting, only fleeting, silent here for duty sworn
My old Gods who sit in waiting, might I power just to borrow?
Only briefly you must loan me the magic to sunder torn.
Weak and trembl’ng, weak to muster, I sought courage, but I crumble,
at the sight of just thy vision, for to me it seems e’er unseen
naught to know but thy own master ‘til I patient, sorely lumber
wondering if fear has stolen me to thine own sacred meadow
when suddenly, fervently see thine true shape and face and form and
terrible dreams enter my soul e’er to stay and e’er to fecund
for death I prefer to understanding the truth our Gods have shunned.

Yet little more did I then speak among the dead and too the meek,
falling towards an abyss so deep that makes my heart and soul weep
dying truly like a phantom lurking in the shallows creep
and yet falling ever faster and so overwhelmed by deep
my eyes and ears saw nothing and heard nothing, not a leap
from the darkness that consumed me e’er more did I fail to seek
that which cannot only reap the dead and tear them ‘til they so reek
so sharp and pointed so it was even I could witness and speak
“Who have I wronged in this place so awful that I am gaoled oblique?
Yet can still think and ponder the widow’s peak and in vain self-wreak?”
in sacred toil among the stardust that makes us shine so mystique.

What does thou will, O lord, my lord, of more than we can ever tell?
I know it is not my duty not to know. Ask I must, ask besides
the husk of my body is yours and yet I know little of thee
by whose authority do wield such magics and more asides?
it is not plain to me what sort of horror lies ‘neath the scorched ground
so why do I? Why do I scream? Why do I see the beast in me?
The hound that hunts for those who must be slaughtered despite what else they seek
the wolf inside that hunts, rips, and tears, taken apart piece by piece
the awful sound of howling that’s for me to not and never cease
the stars themselves align to my fate fear in mind and e’er besides
‘tis here that I myself sit alone and finally soon to die.
for death I prefer to the fate our Gods have brought to us benumbed.

Merry Christmas Grandma,
Thought I'd fill you in on what's been going on here for the holidays. Since you can't be with us on account of you having your vaginal gout flare up again. Dad says it's just as well since you're not actually my grandma and really just some homeless lady I keep writing letters for. So I thought I'd huff whatever I can find under the sink and write you up.
Timmy had had another bad dream last night. He wet the bed and the Wolfhound that had been given to my aunt by her ex Snott, his name was actually Scott but he couldn't pronounce the letter c. Well it went crazy and killed Timmy. The Wolfhound, not Snot. My sister Tammy is pretty upset since his name had come up in her ****** Advent Calendar.
Mom took us by the prison last week to see Uncle Skinny. He's still in isolation so we had to yell at him though the drainage pipe in the back. Says he's doing well. Still eating skin every chance he gets but hasn't had a cigarette in four months. We're all pretty proud of him. We used a tent pole to shove some chicken skins through the pipe and wished him a Merry Christmas.
Our neighbors are having a dispute over Christmas decorations. Seems our new neighbors the Crowleys celebrate Christmas by going from house to house and screeching satanic verses into a megaphone whilst making their kids dance for nickels. Seriously these kids will not stop dancing unless you have nickels. Try throwing a quarter? Nope, they just dance harder. Nobody in the neighborhood is sure as to whether or not it's child abuse so we just collectively try to make sure we have nickels at all times. These people will just jump out of the bushes screeching and dancing. The other kids are afraid to wait for the bus in the morning.
Well in an effort to get them to stop. Our other neighbor begain having an affair with the wife in the schreechy family. My guess is he was going to blackmail her to get her family to stop screeching and singing. Well she ended up keeping the baby he knocked her up with. Turns out her husband is a cuck and into the whole thing. So now whenever you see them, they're pushing a stroller with his kid in it. His wife left him for her stepdaughter and they're making ***** films in Burbank. Daryl and I are thinking of trying to cheer him up by decorating his house for Christmas for him. We're going to turn a woodchipper towards his house and throw green paint and squirrels into it. Because he's always feeding the squirrels so we think he'll like it.
I found out what my friend next door is getting for Christmas. I saw his dad shopping for trampolines at the trampoline store in the trampoline district downtown. They have to perfect yard for it. They'll probably put it near the pool with the waterslide and the next to the rock climbing wall. Hopefully my friend will do more than just sit in his wheelchair and cry about it like he does every year.
Anyway. I should probably go clean up what's left of Timmy. I was supposed to do it hours ago but the dog has playing with Timmys corpse for a while. He shakes it around and flings it down the hall. Then he picks it up and runs around the house with it. Mom and dad will be back from their swingers party at the orphanage soon so I better get to it.
Tomorrow is Christmas. I can't wait. After I open my presents and have breakfast. I'm going to do what I always do. I'm going to stand in front of the Mosque and smoke cigarettes in a very intimidating manner. Once they come out to see what I want. I offer to scratch their ***** if they'll bring me some figgy pudding. It hasn't happened yet but I remain hopeful.
Have a Merry Christmas Grandma.
Love Billy

Some of you just don’t like Christmas. You’d rather it just *******. Anytime you hear Jingle Bells, you change the station and scoff.

Perhaps it has been ruined, by things that happened then. So while others are laughing and singing, you’re only thinking of when.

Was it a touchy old pastor? Did a reindeer **** on your shoe? Did your elf on a shelf touch himself while smiling and staring at you?

Maybe a coked out ****** in tights tried to bite off your tongue. Just as the snow was falling and those church bells had been rung.

How can you not like the lights? The smell of snow in the air? Is it because you’re spiritually dead and can’t muster the courage to care?

Maybe you had a bad mom, who wore ****** clamps in front of your friends. Who wore acid wash jeans everyday, no matter the fashion trends.

How can you not like the sounds? Of fires that crackle and snap? Of cookies and cider and cinnamon **** and all that Christmasy crap?

Well whatever your ***** *** reason for hating this season so. Please take your ****** egg nog, and go stand outside in the snow.