the slow art of breathing bitter

Last Christmas

As I walked back home last Christmas—

The yellow lights reflected on the wet pavement,

A sheer layer of grey fog wrapping my brown coat,

The gas lamps whispered "jingle bells";

But my heart was a broken lamp— 

Still glowing in a snoring pain,

stained with cherry red.

And the blur of yellow and red suddenly darkened

As a hooded wave of remembrance 

swept past me; shattering the golden stains

and the red Santa Claus caps and jingling bells

Of our last Christmas together.

It's been one year now, or a mere one minute—

But the warm water can burn your raw skin

Or ignite it at any time it want to.

My eyes still searched for the icy water

To drown into—the thrill of getting shattered;

Until the inky lines choke you down.

And I walked down the road:

A sudden labyrinth or a riot

Of purple and red and yellow and brown

Crushed upon the lonely rose walls,

Until my eyes found yours—

Like champagne burning your dry throat,

Or the sunshine fighting with the potted lilac:

All of it happened in a mere two seconds,

And I walked back home wearing the same brown coat—

Forgetting all of those that have happened

Last Christmas.

——————————————————————————————

A/N: Are y'all already in the holiday spirit? Besides, this was just some random thought that popped into my head while I was practicing maths. And sadly, this again ended up with some hints of tragedy. So vote anyway, I'd send you an apple pie! :)