Christmas of the Self-Denied

Run through with the chill sabre of failure,
The lifesblood of my spirit flows from the wound like a river. 
Whether it be real or imagined,
How can I endure with my will so wounded and weakened? 
My friends only fuel the fire, when I don't quite walk the line,
Think they that I lack troubles, ill-at-ease in my own mind? 
"Won't you come shopping for a Christmas tree?"
I think not -- my psyche has been troubling me. 
"Won't you take part in the season's cheer?"
Alas, it will be but a break from routine, I fear.
"Why not go and enjoy yourself with friends?"
Sadly, it is thus that many of my troubles begin. 
Perhaps I've had better than what to others fate has dealt,
But I'll never reap those riches, unable to forgive myself. 
Each misstep I have made is loaded on my yoke of pain,
And I fear that bitter weight will drive me insane. 
-- copyright © 2005

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