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Wounds are healed with time, 

yet this time my wound is too 

painful too heal; death came 

too claim my father's soul~

Now sadness, confused tears,

and laments are heard 

throughout my home; this year

and those too follow there will

be no Christmas in December~

No present, gift, nor condolence

will bring my father back too life;

God selfishly took him away....

no holy night, far from silent; 

mother's cry awaken my 

slumber~

Burning the pain into the night 

does not contemplate the 

feelings within; a dirty glass 

brings stale memories....after 

taste of death on my lips~

The night before you will find 

me on one, maybe two binges 

of a chemical romance,  by the 

seventh binge I will be satisfied 

if my eyelids find rest~

Unhappy holidays without

decorative lights and a pine tree 

to display....while most will be 

merry, I will bury my father; for

you see there is no Christmas in 

December anymore~   

R.I.P {DAD} 

08/19/1950- 12/11/2014

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