A grey Christmas,
Ash falls from the sky.
Children don't play,
And holiday tunes
Are no where
To be heard.
A sad day
In a soot filled town,
Fires still dance,
But no chestnuts
Are roasted.
Under the mistletoe
No one is kissing,
But there's still
The faint sense
Of cheer that's missing
The families are thankful,
But not for their gifts,
More for the men
Who doused the fires lips,
A holiday blaze
That burned down the town,
If only old Santa
Had put the pipe down

Under my skin,
Your words are digging in.
Ripping, tearing,
Pulling my flesh away.
Peeling back the skin
And settling in.
To a host of which
They are unwelcome.

Under my skin,
Your words are digging in.
Lying, defying,
Numbing the realities.
Peeling back the skin
And settling in.
Whispering nothings to which
There are no meanings.

Under my skin,
Your words are digging in.
Confusing, undoing,
Ignoring all truths.
Peeling back the skin
And settling in.
Crafting lies which
Are filled with sin.

Under my skin,
Your words are digging in.
Mending, fixing,
Stitching the wounds.
Peeling back the skin
And settling in.
Making a home in which
They shouldn't be existing.

Under my skin,
Your words are digging in.
Peeling back the skin
And settling in.