my christ-mass

silence can be very loud

but i prefer it to be ordinary.

i work for a solitary life yet i

have no desire to be isolated.

i have won and lost many wars

with myself. as years have

passed by there is no longer an

urgency in knowing when my

next meal will be, if i will touch

naked flesh besides my own

again. i have accepted there

will be no regeneration of my

bones. the wind and rain have

never been responsible for my

agony or the stiffness in my

joints. deafness has crawled

into my ears and a gray fog has

obscured my vision. no one sees

my art as i do. my masterpiece

is nothing more than sentimental

nostalgia. only a thief would be

fooled of its worth. in every

breath i take it is more shallow

than when i was born. it’s now

filled with happiness and sadness,

sorrow and joy. i was born into

this before the sun and moon.


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