Truth

It was Christmas eve, when she walked out through the door,
Unable to take anymore,
With only the clothes wearing and a good bye note in her pocket,
She continued down the street, like astronauts taking off in a rocket.

The planet had gotten too small for her, its people too predicable,
Hopelessly unfixable,
She’d tried to add her touch until she couldn’t feel it no longer,
She had sold her soul, loosing that last thing that belonged to her.

The town continued to open their nicely wrapped presents,
Ignoring all sense,
And while their children went to bed dreaming of safe space travel,
Parents covered up any trace of what the truth could unravel

White snow kept falling, washing from the left behind note on paper,
All but a ‘see you later’
that never happened, and by next Christmas the town had mostly forgotten,
What gift they, only a year ago, with a note attached had gotten.

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~ by spasmicallyperfect on November 7, 2005.

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