A Prick from a Christmas Tree

December 4, 2009

Underneath the Christmas tree
Santa left a man for me.
“Oh Dahling”, shouted I with glee,
“We’ll be as happy as can be.”

The first weeks were a mist of bliss,
Each day ended with a kiss.
But soon that kiss became a hiss
And I knew something was amiss.

He did not like my style of hair.
He did not like my underwear.
He said my face was far from fair.
And soon, for him, I did not care.

He pawed and mauled my bends and curves
And said, “Don’t eat so much hors d’oeuvres”.
So very soon I did observe
That he was getting on my nerves.

He would not let me stay at home
When I’d wish to be alone.
He’d bore me with his dulcet tones,
With one word sounding like a tome.

I could not look him in the face.
I did not want him in my place.
I wanted back my personal space.
Return the chump, bring back the chase.

Next Christmas came and I saw red,
For I knew I’d been misled.
So once I had my fill in bed,
I put a bullet through his head!


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