The tinkle and crinkle of tinsel-wrapped trinkets,
The colour of the rainbow, caressing the cataracts
Of milky sightless eyes.
Trinkets that glisten and glimmer,
Shining with promises of sweet delight.
Erotic aromas of vanilla and cinnamon,
Forever false, forever deceitful.
Molten chocolate, flowing and folding,
Fills the mouth with its delectable lusciousness
But it is nothing ashes.
And these ashes fill the mind and body
With doubts and fears and disgust,
Crippling, desensitizing,
Leaving the soul empty, a void.
Still the wrappers build up around me.