Oh God, I Wrote a Song About Suicide and Christmas

by Noise Pollution

I feel myself getting old
in my cold
cold, cold, cold room
without you

I feel your arms wrapped ’round my waist
I feel you start to slip away
My fingers numb to the pain
as I grip my guitar

It’s snowing here inside my room
I left the windows open
And everything is consumed
by a white expanse

And my veins are slow
to move my blood through my body
I look across the bathroom floor
and know what I am here for
There’s nothing that I want
so bad, anymore.

I see red
more vividly
than green
this Christmas Eve
and that’s alright
I see me
more vividly
than you
this holy night.

A holy night.