I am full of sick feelings.

Unbending paper clips, and sliding off strings. Rust that scratches against half-painted nails. Polish that chips around the edges.

Things too old to hang on the tree.

I want to go home.

All my things are here, because my new room is too small.

I don't want to be here.

I hate Christmas, and I hate you. I will never love you again. Even though I love you. deeply.

Please take me home.