Sometimes I hate being right.

No truth will come until after the light.

Plans perceived as facts believed,

Rest easy,

Everything is being taken care of.

But, “What about what I want? What about what I need?”

My cries, the result of personal greed.

I’m selfish with myself and I don’t really care to share,

Treating you dirtier than Mr. Hankey’s underwear.

The season comes to get together,

But damn! I’m not trying to stay forever.

Three days isn’t long but the timing’s all wrong.

Day Two of The Twelve Days of Christmas always feels like Day Eleven.

I feel like being home alone,

You steadily screaming “Kevin!”

Day Three: Suffocated

Day Four: Bored

Day Five: Inebriated

Day Six: “LORD!”

“I don’t even believe in you, but I know my parents do,

And since your son was Jewish I know he can relate,

To a mother who lays on the guilt,

And a father who plans his fate.

Day Seven: Ready to go

Day Eight: Ready to blow.

Day Nine: It. Better. Not. Snow.

Day Ten: This has ruined my flow.

Day Eleven: Same as day two

Day Twelve: I can go back to being me. You can go back to being you.