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.