Christmas Day

Sandy eyed mourners,
buzzing about current events

Try to peel their eyes
off your painted smile
as they stare into
the box of death

I cannot lift my head
trying to focus on
grandmothers aging lines
the run in my stocking
then choosing the moth-ball scent instead

Is this how I want to lay?

Red, frozen, and made up
like it was just another Christmas day?

While they are serving respect
on a silver platter
devoring death like a meal

I will linger
in the shadows
dreaming of when you were real