Christmas Hit

There's a clamour in your veins
hoping for some warmth.

Crisp futures thaw slowly
and collage the pavement
with decaying autumn.

There's a clamour in your veins
and your blood is sedated.

The frost-bite doesn't bother you
when you're nodding through festive freeze,
unaware of your own shivering.

There's a clamour in your veins
and it soothes you from conscious fears.

Childhood promises are all cooked up from poppies
and when you're permeated with gear
it feels like Christmas.

There's a clamour in your veins;
track-marks leading from pinpricks to amputation.

The pain of withdrawal would bring the beauty of future
but you're perforated by these fairy lights
that suck significance from nature.

So you choose this clamour in your veins;
your own consumption,
and you'll defrost from this winter still bitter,
but without the means to taste it.

Written December 2012.


  1. Jaggedly, uncomfortably honest. I like it if "like" is the right word


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