Day 8

8th of December, 2016

If my eyes could shine as bright as a star,

Would I become one, someday?

I hope that my shine could reach out far,

So that Santa would come with his sleigh.

Mother says that he doesn't exist,

That he's a man of fiction.

I believe that she hasn't yet been kissed,

By the sweet, Christmas addiction.

Santa is my best friend,

And he reads my every note.

While to mother, for each note I send

She shoves them down her throat.

Santa, if you hear me, can you grant me a wish?

It's not a doll or a puppy or toy.

I wish that mother could simply perish,

So that I could live in joy.

"My friend, Santa"

Author's Note

Got a comment from a friend when I was reading this:

"It started off great...BUT WHY DID YOU MAKE IT SO FREAKING DARK?"

Mission accomplished....

Reviews

[Bear]

An avant-garde poets work is often judged by its shock value and I would say this falls into the category. Bravo! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!