Wreaths made of bones
and my blood spilt.
There was an air of
unspoken...
knowing,
where everyone knew
that today was the day
of holiday joys and
Christmas cheer,
but the red of the blood
that covered
the hands of us
seemed to have blocked out
the green and the white
of the trees and snow.
We were not meant
to mourn over the loss
of our spirits on this one day.
Christmas;
where the blood spilt
becomes an extra accessory
to the hanging lights.