Christmas lights wrapped up in my hands, the only light in the room, presents still under the tree which is dim now for losing its little stars,
broken glass from ornaments that shattered in the struggle littering the floor like land mines of pain and blood, you did this so that I would **** you,
your jaw lying slack open and your eyes are closed which is lucky because now that I recognize you I would try to revive you and since I know you’re dead and I killed you I understand, that this was your intention because suicide wouldn’t grant you entry to Heaven and
this Christmas season has just ripped at you too much like it does every year.
I should have known it when I noticed how quickly you emptied a bottle every night into your eggnog for holiday cheer and into your coffee every morning for a pick-me-up and into your empty glass in the afternoon just because you were thirsty.