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.
