December is a cold month.
So cold.
So incomplete.
A time when nature dies,
Along with parts of me.
December is a month of dreary days.
Lit up with lights to mask the pain.
Holiday spirit.
Just an excuse to drink.
Food, family, friends.
It's all just more fuel to think.
I grew up to understand the Grinch.
Whose heart became so small.
And although these lights do warm me,
I want to crush them all.
December is a month of lies and of deceit.
It's not at all about spirit, rather a receipt.
I'd prefer sit alone.
A fireplace and a book.
Than sit along beside others, to have my heart led astray by some crook.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 7:02 PM UTC
December is a cold month.
So cold.
So incomplete.
A time when nature dies,
Along with parts of me.
December is a month of dreary days.
Lit up with lights to mask the pain.
Holiday spirit.
Just an excuse to drink.
Food, family, friends.
It's all just more fuel to think.
I grew up to understand the Grinch.
Whose heart became so small.
And although these lights do warm me,
I want to crush them all.
December is a month of lies and of deceit.
It's not at all about spirit, rather a receipt.
I'd prefer sit alone.
A fireplace and a book.
Than sit along beside others, to have my heart led astray by some crook.
