That time of the year again...

It's Christmas time, a beautiful sensation. The cold fingers of desolation clamping on my throat. They squeeze out the jolly good frustrations for Santa to see. It's not enough that he knows if I am good or bad, he has to see too I am miserable too.

Am-bi-gu-i-ty

Frankly, I am frantic. I come in pieces and leave incensed. Sweet aroma of desperation, it billows from the wound you have given me. Pull away from the scene. Pull out and let me be. I don't want you.