Underneath the stretching trees.
Stranger still, my eyes are closing on the road.
More and more, with every heartbeat.
The air is getting tighter.
Its becoming more self aware.
Stranger still, I’m swerving in and out of consciousness.
By now my eyes are fading in and out of focus.
They’re very blurry, so very blurry.
Stranger still, it’s funny how I keep seeing the same faces,
but we are strongest in our broken places.
Stranger still, this moment won’t release you,
but it can isolate your senses.
Drifting into a different kind of despair.
One beyond repair.
Stranger still, the ringing in my ears,
The raining of my tears.
My tears of alcohol.
Stranger still, I can see everyone’s winter trees, as they sway.
I’m wondering what Holly would say.
“What an empty holiday.”
Stranger still, the vultures stood on every light post.
They were staring down at me like wise men on the coast.
They knew my future.
Moving with sound and sight.
They know I can see more in the dark, than in the light.
Stranger still, I sat alone on the couch, in the dark.
The only light casting from the Christmas tree,
I watched them hold each other, as they were getting loud.
The quiet sound of crying, was from me.