Especially This Time of Year

Holidays
seem sad to me
fleeting
you turn around
and they're here again
cold
you're older
someone has died since the last one
you're still alone
someone may die before the next one
every year, there is a memory.

Music plays quietly
wrapping gifts by oneself
drinking
singing dirty carols
drunken shouts at Jimmy Stewart
to go ahead and jump
could give a damn
if Clarence saves him or not.

The magic faded
grown up and now bitter
Toys-R-Us
makes you smile
wish it was for you
dream of staying up late waiting
for Santa and reindeer
and the oblivious nature
of that which should be childhood.

Racing to buy
buying to please
Anyone
who will listen to a broken heart
can't hear it above the
static on the intercom
there's a sale in aisle nine
fought fifty women
trampled like the old man
in the 80's, killed for a
cabbage patch doll.

I buy a tree
a simple thing
lights
burn away shadows
make a lighter room
more colorful
for which to cry in
scents of pine
mixed with wine
my pets gather 'round me
protective paw
whiskers wipe a tear away.

I Hate My Fucking Job (Whistle While You Work)

Here at my job
I am in hell
Getting kicked in the face
As they wish me well;
Making barely enough
To put food on a plate
While shrewish voices
On my nerves do grate;
Veiled threats and barbs
Are casually thrown
By ruthless women
Who drag me down;
Half of whom can't spell
Or speak their mind
Unless it's petty,
Catty, evil, and unkind;
Who talk behind backs
And smile to the face
Making every passive aggressive effort
To put one in their place;
Surrounded by cunts
Who leave one out of their clique
Behaviour not fitting of work and superiors
Enough to make one sick;

Superiors - a strange word indeed
For it is the furthest from the truth
Superiority in name
Only under this one roof.

Perhaps it is me
I ask myself day to day
Who takes it to heart
When I should just walk away;
But I've always maintained
That I wish to try
To give the benefit of the doubt
Without asking why;

So while I search for another
Job that will fit
I try to pass the time
While I'm mired in shit;
I dream dreams of the wicked
Of retribution and pain
Of my victory in their debasement
Of their losses and my gain;
Yet all it really does
In the end, I must admit
Is remind me the need
To just up and quit.