Traumatic Progression To Nothing

For every gift I was given,

To find out – like Santa – the giver was fiction.

For every promise carefully packaged

To arrive broken; faster than UPS Express could deliver.

For all the times my rusty window was forced open

Stripping even the hollowness out of the hollow.

There’s nothing now for anyone and so it shall stay-

Useless, barren and bare.

Oh wait- there’s only one thing that lingers

The stench of morbid despair.

-Ramona Arena 2016.

 

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