'Santa's Little Elf'

“You’re not the best, but you’ll do.”

Once upon a time we were best friends,

Ruly and truly, we were best friends.

But I lacked time while you had it abundant,

And you grew annoyed and took on roles incumbent.

You did not appreciate my situation

Nor attempt to understand me; exasperation

Consumed my soul; and you, you leered,

You watched, cold, as I fell and disappeared.

Look, I know I’ve grown unresponsive and distant,

I know I’ve failed at being consistent.

“I know you’ve got other friends and all, but…”

Why, don’t you see, for irony's sake,

It’s you who helped get me into this hell-forsaken rut?!

Of course I’m looking for strangers to be

The kind-handed nurses you were never to me.

They ask no questions, they expect no love,

But rub scented balm into joints that are tough.

Should I really have to say this?:

“I’m not the most interesting of companions,

But I enjoyed our rendez-vous nevertheless.”

Should I have to put myself down like this,

While I make excuses for your words remiss?

—I’m falling forever down forever’s abyss.

You call yourself tactful and aware of others’ feelings?

Well, let me tell you what lies are your dealings:

You’re as aware of my feelings as a blind man of a rainbow.

Rainbows don’t excite one who is disabled in sight,

Especially if they’re displayed in their colourful might.

Yet when a blind man looks at a rainbow between clouds

They have no colour that can him arouse.

--And who said a rainbow was ever jolie?--

I am not important to you. You’ve given up on me.

I’m coughing alone here and forgotten on my shelf.

You’re trying to put me down to swell yourself.

You disbelieve me because I only hint at hell,

And cannot show, no more than tell.

After everything I’ve been thinking for the past God-knows-how-long.

You make me guilty; you put me in the wrong.

“Just tell me to go away if you like. I don’t mind.”

You won’t miss me; I know you’re blind.

I said I couldn’t come, but you didn’t even have the manners

To invite me in case I was lying,

As I “always do.” And so inside I am dying.

Many and many and many a clue

Have I let drop to the soil, but fruitless are you.

You don’t believe me or hear me or try to understand me.

How can you see

If you don’t even look?

Would swearing show you I’m not just a show?

Or would that once again render me the sole smarting foe?

What good would it do if profanity let loose?

Would I lose control and end up on the noose

—If I wasn’t already there—

Would I put your back up, and destroy all your care

—If you had any before—

And I’d run myself out, torn red and sore,

Wastened of energy, worsened of time,

And done up in guilt for ‘self-inspired crime’.

You sicken me. You really do.

Rationally I decide that vulgarity is unwise.

It is more effectual to my cause—and yours—if I suffer silently,

The internal battle raging as violently

As ever it raged, or ever I compressed

My storm of sentiment; I think I’m depressed.

I am your ever-condemned, your detainee,

Your prisoner, your convict, your game on a tree.

Fury ebbs away like a stubborn gust of wind,

And I am left neutral, with only my lessened courage

Set up as a bulletproof colourless barrage,

And a rankling stench of bitterness where

Life is suppressed by the exit-less ease of despair.

Why am I even looking for your help?

I can’t trust you nor no one to do it right.

I’m far too disloyal and way too uptight.

I’ve always wanted to do it all by myself.

I’ve never believed in ‘Santa’s Little Elf’.

The End

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