Only one more sleep till Christmas. Should I be excited? Should I feel the inevitable anti-climatic excitement that I felt when I was little? Am I growing to old for this game? Am I growing numb to the love and sharing of this holiday? I dont know. Christmas is tommorow. I am sick. It is my own fault. It was fun getting sick... I told him things... I know I should have told him sooner. The guilt... the accumulative pressure that builds up when you are hiding something... it just... I dunno, gave way. The dam broke lets say. Now he knows... now he doesnt trust me again, he is sad and angry and dissapointed in me again. If I just hid in a corner for the rest of my life, then I wouldnt make any mistakes that would make people sad. I would be quiet and still, slowly accumulating cobwebs and dust. I would... just be. I watch the Christmas festivities and preparation going on around me. I am numb the joy that everyone else seems to be feeling. I am the garden statue Seeing all Never telling Someone kiss me Break the spell Melt the icy stone Bring me back to life Cant even shout Cant even cry Stuck in my frozen state Waiting for death to take me Or for lifes embrace Until then, I am eroded Being broken down The life that I wished loved me Winds of hate Acid rain Till the rock that I am trapped in Is scarred and broken Please Someone break the spell Before the garden statue Is the garden soil Hmm... inspiration comes in flashes. Like lightening... Or floods... Nightime calls, bringing forth all manner of beast into her loving court. In the name of gardens...