Christmas in Queenstown
I’ll be the emotional martyr so hopefully you can learn from my written mistakes,
and you can find love settle down and make a family before it’s too late,
before you’re just another lonely broken hearted hopeless romantic,
that feels the most lonely on holidays…
I feel the most lonely on holidays,
I mean I feel lonely almost every day,
but especially on holidays,
I feel the most lonely on holidays,
I know it might not seem it,
but honestly I am the sentimental type,
especially on holidays,
like Easter mornings or Christmas nights,
except this sentimental sense,
usually leads me to depression,
because I have no real family to be with,
I guess that’s why my obsession with acceptance has no direction,
and my ******* is only there for attention which creates tension,
which leads to extra ****** receptions by feminine tendons with no protection,
and the misconception that this is heaven leads to spiritual indigestion,
which progresses to regret when I try to repent then write these written confessions…
I confess,
I am a mess,
but also blessed,
so what the heck,
here I sit,
it’s Christmas eve,
I’m in Queenstown,
feeling like a king,
or at least was,
at one point in the evening,
before I met that *****,
and we made lust without any reasoning,
tis the seasoning,
this is the thieving,
of all progress from healing,
when I throw it all away for some ****** feelings,
no ****** healing,
feeding,
egos with libidos,
achieving,
nothing nada zero,
see I was on Church St.,
in Queenstown how ironic,
there is no salvation on this Church,
only drunken fools that seem demonic,
and ignorance,
that spreads like it’s bubonic,
no plague though,
just shaky legged hoes,
** ** **,
merry Christmas,
let’s go go go,
on and sin no forgiveness,
she seemed so ****,
with that short cut shirt,
her belly button showing off,
flat stomach what a flirt,
I swooped in quick,
took her under my arm,
the winter wind was blowing,
it was cold I kept her warm,
took her to my car,
drove her to my place,
laid her down on my bed,
kissed her on her face,
taste,
like sugar and spice,
but this girl was all naughty,
nothing nice,
hair silver,
skin white,
she was as blond as they get,
and I’m totally into that type,
and what’d you expect,
from a girl from Finland,
white as a white Christmas,
but no Santa in this wonderland,
I wonder when,
I’ll find a way to escape these cliches,
when will I finally find a place,
where I can settle down and stay?
Anyways,
I poured some olive oil on her smooth stomach,
I rubbed her body eagerly,
she removed all her clothes,
fully exposed I was enjoying the scenery,
wanted to stay there,
to stretch out the moment,
but she was in a hurry,
so I undressed as well and got on it,
I gave her exactly what she wanted,
a ready ******* and a bit of attention,
we made a sacred act and should’ve bonded,
but like I said before my obsession with acceptance has no direction,
and my ******* is only there for attention which creates tension,
which leads to extra ****** receptions by feminine tendons with no protection,
and the misconception that this is heaven leads to spiritual indigestion,
which progresses to regret when I try to repent then write these written confessions…
I went in,
and once spent then,
I asked her one question,
“Please stay and show me at least a little affection.”,
see what is *** when,
it’s absent of expression,
and it’s just fornication and abjection,
and what should feel like acceptance simply feels like rejection,
and you’re laying there naked in all your imperfections,
feeling like a felon who’s deadliest weapon is inattention,
it’s assault but it’s not either of your faults because you’re both lethal weapons,
phantom figments of each other’s imaginations our oppressions building momentum,
until we both can’t take it any more and she just wants to leave after the deeds been done,
and we’re still laying on the bed but it feels like the floor oh well I guess tis the season then,
still I must ask even though I already know the answer,
I ask her to stay and she’s already getting up to leave,
so the asking turns into a plea because this feels like thievery in the first degree,
“please don’t leave not tonight for the love of God it’s Christmas eve!”,
and I told you before,
I feel the most lonely on holidays,
I mean I feel lonely almost every day,
but especially on holidays,
I feel the most lonely on holidays,
I know it might not seem it,
but honestly I am the sentimental type,
especially on holidays,
like Easter mornings or Christmas nights,
except this sentimental sense,
usually leads me to depression,
because I have no real family to be with,
I guess that’s why my obsession with acceptance has no direction,
and my ******* is only there for attention which creates tension,
which leads to extra ****** receptions by feminine tendons with no protection,
and the misconception that this is heaven leads to spiritual indigestion,
which progresses to regret when I try to repent then write these written confessions,
so that these confessions will hopefully metamorphosize into lessons,
that others can learn from to prevent getting burned from other’s complexions of aggressions,
and escape from being the possession of their own misdirected intentions,
because cure is not as good as prevention and deflection is always better than correction,
hence when we are together it seems like destruction but when we’re apart it’s perfection,
because together we’ve all been through enough to fill an anthology of apologies no exceptions,
still I love all of these as in all of us because I find this mess so beautiful upon further reflection,
as all us broken hearted hopeless lovers just become footnotes in The Book of Love’s addendum…
And since we’re at the addendum,
I guess this is thee end then,
in other words,
this is Thee Ending.
Thee Ending.
∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
I'm not saying this is a true story... Because then you'd judge me...