He pulls on the sweater, unasked for, ill-fitting and probably itchy as hell, but he knows the ritual by now and pulls until his head births and he opens his eyes ready for the chorus of smiles and laughter, but they're not there.
It's dark and the scents and chimes of Christmas are gone, he's spinning and falling in a force 10 gale battered by the sound of breaking waves.  So he reaches out for an anchor; his hands sink into a hedgerow, prickly with Hawthorn entwined with Holly, but he can't pull away and the momentum thrusts him forward through the pain into a field of sunflowers which swing their heads to face him, accusing him of trespass.  That’s when he becomes aware of distant gun fire and what looks like a star falling towards him.  Their heads duck down, forcing him to his knees and he's on all fours, his hands deep in Aunt Maud's **** in front of the fire, his head ringing, shell shocked, shaking and weeping while the family help him up.
- Easy there, Sam, you okay?  You look like hell. –
He looks around for his aunt’s face, and she smiles.
- He'll be fine, it sometimes takes us a while after our emergence from Mid Yell.  It's my first attempt at a Mid Yell and Ukrainian mohair blend.  Bring him some water.  Sam dear, have a seat and make sure you come and find me when you want to take it off, but not for a while. You shouldn't Walk the Goat too often, it confuses the soul. –
His siblings stare, full of questions and relief for their scarves as he studiously ignores them, and stares into the fire, shivering, hands prickly, the gun shots resonating in his gut and the aroma of sunflowers filling his head, knowing he needs to find that star.

I wish I could write something
That pierced the wool
Pulled over your eyes.
Your depression, your nihilism;
The things keeping you coupled
To the miserable lense of your life.
Cause there are so many things,
That are just perspective.
And everything else,
We could work through together.
I fear you can't imagine, what
It would be like, to improve.
Walk the world afresh, renewed.
Just so long as you're comfortable,
It doesn't matter if you're happy.
We could be something wonderful,
But you can't see.
That's the real tragedy

I live for a world without,
                            dependency
on imaginary friends..

Because at the moment,


Twelve Thousand gods fight
        for ******* of your will...


To be hateful and **** for them...

I used to believe in the tooth fairy,
             and Santa...


But the reality is some mother *******
                grow the **** up.....


I read fairy tales but I don't,
                     ****, hate..
Morality of fallen morals
      in imaginary words..

People need to recognise,
      that every story is just
a third hand view..

Rewrote from the reflections of
           that time.

But some are sheep and some
      are wolves...

But the wolves never feed,
they
    just try to prune the wool
over others eyes to let them howl
                                     at the moon..

Really, there was no need to fuss,
I signed on with Yarn Anonymous,
Here I stand to confess,
I bought more wool, not less,
Then I did sign the pledge,
I took abstinence to the edge,
Here I stand and say,
I have not bought wool for ten whole days!

blue chiffon roses
pink ones
made from tulle
yellow
from cotton
green ones made of wool
orange made from linen
purple made from flannel
but the prettiest ones of all
are the blue chiffon roses

i am not the lost sheep, for You know exactly where i am. but i am a stupid one.

i know i shouldn’t lag behind the flock or wander over to the edge of the cliff repeatedly to check how far we’ve come, but i do anyway.

i’m weak and my wool falls into my eyes so i can hardly see You, but i make only half-hearted efforts to swipe it away.

Father, i am not worthy of Your love in any way. but You give my hooves strength to keep following You.

thank You, Jesus. please, keep me close to You. I will wipe this wool from my eyes and keep stumbling after You, no matter how much it costs.

for You will be my strength and my song and my salvation.

Mortality is surprising as it should be.
That you should die is not implied by life
Or pain. There is a sweater hanging in his closet.
If one were to look closely at the
                       neck the thread begins un
                       raveling the
                       re. No one will
                       notice
                       she s
                       ai
                       d. But it is his sweater and he noticed.
But it is only a sweater and really no one will notice.
It isn't what they look for.