He likes being held 

Like a hostage

And on snowy Christmas Day.

He likes the notion

Deep in his mind, that

Maybe he can’t get away

This time.

Maybe the spirit of something past has him.

Maybe, without a care,

Or a chamber pot to piss in,

He has something NOW after all,

This something that has him.

So Merry Christmas, Lover.

Your promises are vain.

But I’ve told you

I have something for you.

So hold me to it,

For that’s not a promise, 

But only a threat,

Like clouds without rain

Or smoke without fire.

Your gun’s for hire,

But I only kill for fun,

And only ever on Christmas Day.

So which of us is better or worse?

Who can say?

And which of us

Will make the naughty list,

If it were written, today?

Who, the nice?

-jenn