there is snow outside my window
and people screaming their heads off
about trivial things such as
no more soap in the bathroom

I am still afraid of living
but time marches on
there are only eight days until Christmas
and maybe my package arrives

and now my cache of scheduled posts has run dry
like an abused oasis in the middle of the desert
coming to you live from disappointment island
and the space in between worlds

this looks like a good day
to write some more depressive poetry
about all the strangers
who have fallen out of my life


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