It's the happiest time of the year.
Where I cry out for loved ones near.
It's that hopeless holiday I dread.
The season for you to wish me dead.
It's time to sing the holiday spirit.
But with the lies I can't hear it.
It's everyone's excuse to go shop.
And I sit dreaming I'm forgotten not.
It's when I'm given the one shit box,
That I disown so it can sit and rot.
It's about families' homemade dinner,
As I'll sit starving getting thinner.
It's time to decorate a dying tree.
That you spend more time on then me.
It's leaving out cookies and milk,
Until the truth of Santa is spilled.
It's where you kiss under missletoe,
And I spend yet another year alone.
It's hairfuls of tinsel and glitter,
To flush Christmas down the shitter.
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