holding memories of past holidays in cupped hands

i feel cold inside

because every year i forget
that decorating the tree is my least favorite day of the year
and i always hate it

but i continually seem to erase my memory of that, 
hands stained with sap and fingers smelling of pine

i hate this. 

because my sister doesn't understand the meaning of family
and maybe i'm always null and void
but at least i try

my eyes crinkle like old tinsel
and my fingers bleed like broken ornaments,
with lungs like crushed christmas lights

and i shudder my breath
through shards of glass
and the dreams we used to have as children.

The End

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