Holidays Are Mutha When The Lovin’ is Stale

Great another one

Another reason for the mass text to the ones who’ve earned the right

To hear from you when all you want to do is pick up your high-priced equipment

And call each member and feel the joy of the voice on the other end

But time exacerbates all wounds, and the changing sky patterns remain timely

Under duress

No, I won’t reach out with happy wishes forlorn with the tired script played in full

I won’t extend the joy of the day as if the bucket half-empty will suddenly fill up on command

I will not and cannot proceed with empty sentences and incompetent sentiments to erase the mishaps of emotions that override the present calamity that took decades to acquire

Birth parents and patterned relatives be damned.

The fabric of our plight as strangers will flourish past the birth and death of Jesus Christ

Until he comes to claim us

The stale breath from our lips will be reduced to letters and symbols

Even for a day of recognition

That exposes the guilt of separation

As silence forces our blood to coagulate

Into nothingness.

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