festively bleak

i need a
couple bottles
of wine to
choke down
the boughs
of holly sprouting
in the back
of my throat
this ornament
of grief
pushing its way
ever just lodged
sitting on the
festive verge
of a total

i can’t cry
not because
i am so masculine
the tears cannot
cut down my
chiseled features
but as some sort of
defense mechanism
because my body
knows once i start
it will be
days upon days
of ugly crying

some dams change
the entirety of
the valley
some prevent
absolute destruction
i teeter between
salvador dali
and oppenheimer

i bleed myself dry
to be a monument
to insignificance
my entirety but
a drip in a bucket
of sallow prayers
a spark in a trashfire
mistaken for a firefly

sending missives
by carrier pigeon
from lovelorn women
to lonely lighthousemen
tying each with
just enough ribbon
to hang yourself from

i am the naka-oroshi
the perfect bluefin
able to judge
by sight alone
yet unable to
partake of the feast
well aware that
as the tuna is caught
the more it flops
on the deck of the ship
the faster the meat
begins to decay
and these tremors
run through me
i feel myself
fading further away

i cannot tell
if i have been
hacked in half
living a half life
draped in tinsel
glass bulbs pierced
through sappy skin
dying by inches
hoping to stay afloat
until after
the holidays
screaming in
flashing light code
a silent plea for
anyone to strike a match
and put us all out
of this constant misery

i need to cry
want to
need to
a couple more weeks
i just won’t
matter until then

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