So glorious the fool,
Caught in his stupidity and unwise sayings.
Mistakens the mind for its wonderful explaining,
But wonder and wrought are of a harder course,
When you wrought the wrong and keep beating a dead horse.

i.    now i'll write this in the melodramatic form everyone has been wanting as "no place like home for the holidays" plays in the background and my mother throws my dad outside while punching him relentlessly

ii.     i break my window and put the broken glass in my bag for memories - it's a stereotypical bag of goodies that contain candy canes, broken teeth, cigarettes, and now my shards of glass

iii.     as i scrap my skin on the rough edges of my window, i decided to be the false underdog named santa tonight and give everyone the sickening hope that the fat man that flies in the sky is actually real

iv.     you'll find me breaking into houses looking for a place to stay and if im lucky enough i'll get caught - my hands in handcuffs lieing in a cell is better than nothing, its more of a home than i'll ever have

v.     let's not forget the phone and keys I've left on my disheveled bed as they wait in the cold winds for i do not plan on returning any time soon nor do I plan on surviving this deathly Alaskan night

vi.     my dog nips in the cold and my mother finds the neon green duct tape under my bed to close the window and lock the door with -
shes been crying for so long that her eyes have welded shut - she mistakens the lump on my bed as me when in fact it's suicide notes for everyone I encountered (even the old lady who threw her glasses at me) and the stuffed animals (I've been collecting them over the years, the ones that were given as gifts)

vii.    one thing remains that i should have taken and it's my shoes I had the silly thought that maybe if i went barefoot my mother would follow my snow trail and look for me but no one will come out at night no one will breathe at night it's just me and broken shards