Numb at Christmas, December 23, 2025

The lights are far too bright this year,

A neon hum that grates the bone.

The table has a hollow chair,

A silence where a voice was known.

One man is gone, his stories stilled,

The other—lost in rooms of mind—

A mother with a cup unfilled,

Forgetting all she leaves behind.

And then the phone that doesn't ring,

The son who chose a different shore.

The sharpest salt the season brings

Is waiting by an open door.

To feel it all would be to drown,

To let the tidal wave break through,

So I will pull the shutters down

And do what I am forced to do.

I’ll turn the heart to cooling stone,

A quiet hum, a steady gray.

I’ll walk these winter halls alone

And push the jagged edge away.

There is no gold, there is no song,

Just heavy boots on frozen ground,

The art of moving right along

Without a single soul or sound.

But in the dark, a tiny spark—

A pilot light that refuses to die.

A smudge of white within the dark,

A low and steady, wordless cry.

It isn't joy, it isn't cheer,

It’s just the strength to hold the line:

The end of everything is near,

The clock is ticking down the time.

Lower the head against the gale,

Count the breaths and count the gear.

The festive mask is thin and pale,

But December 26th is near.

The world will dim, the noise will cease,

The pressure of the "Merry" gone.

Just hold your breath and find your peace;

The light is thin, but coming on.

#ChristmasBlues #SurvivingChristmas #Life #hope #christmaspast