I just wasn't feeling the Christmas spirit, so I tried to amend that. Watching you turn blue, choking on your own severed cock, I can't help but feel I went wrong somewhere. Your struggles, the changing hue of your face, all very festive. Merry even. I know your eventual pallor will remind me of fallen snow. I drink the smoothie I made from our unborn child. The tender hollow that is my stomach helps me think. Bored of your thrashing my eyes shift to our tree. Then, it hits me. I put way too much tinsel on.
