on the back numerous hole
quite a few too on the chest
still it clings to my soul
I think it fits me best.

says my flummoxed wife
you’re a miser hopeless
holding on a rag for life
bringing yourself disgrace.

I feign not to hear and shrug
clutching it more to my heart
feeling warm cosy in its hug
my friend the many years’ shirt.

on it lie rivers of sweat
joy and sorrow’s tear stains
time’s all burden of weight
gloomy and dark hours’ pains.

a mere cloth and I find it so hard
to throw it and part our ways
wonder how humans discard
relations grown over years.

Wading through a passive aggressive retort
With a fever coming on, voice horse
Knowing that you are falling ill
Work like a fist in the stomach against your will
Tapping out a code of morse to a time before the workforce

into a world cold and lonely I set sail my only son
I tried in the seventeen years to teach him right from wrong
so, one day I turned him into the sun and set his sights on living
It has been two years I have heard from him.
I think about him and me
and how I may have been wrong,
or how I may have done better
yet I think again
on how I may have made him strong
strong enough to not need me,
In that I am
proud
and      
weak kneed.

so,
to the child within remember him?

Santa is real, and goblins and tooth fairies.
Lose a tooth but cherish memory.
Open the presents
past given,
the fantasies,
the dreams.

I followed a girl named Janice, a long long time ago, home.
She was my first girlfriend.

I will never forget her looking back,
and how she said hello.

The Peanuts Christmas Music
is already playing on the radio
It's impossible to grab a loaf of bread
or a gallon of milk with out hearing
So many memories
it makes me so sad to hear
The sound of the piano
a part of me hears it, dies inside
thinking of those times that are gone
but were always kind of sad in the first place

But then why does a part of me
secretly love this feeling
Why does it feel good to be so
utterly sad?
Similar in effect to the child watching a
scary film through strategically placed fingers
they do not want to be scared but deep down
they secretly love to be afraid
Why do we do this to ourselves?
And why are most not honest about it?
Why are we broken?
Or maybe we are not

I never liked the Peanuts anyway