There is absolutely no feeling like this - a spiky tree sits in the middle of our lounge but does not smile as this is not a merry Christmas. The sweat on my sole tells me there is nothing left to do. This room is big and I must not tarnish it; however there is a big log down the bottom near the road that would welcome my blood so I may just pay a visit before Rudolph's final hoof settles on my roof - he won't complain, it's more blessings for the other angels and once again the thorn is gone. I am not what I am - I laugh obesely but do not feel it, I cannot foresee ever feeling it - I have indigestion from eating nothing, whilst the princess drinks coffee and gets fat from being remembered. My low voice echoes in this room and that is beautiful but only makes me feel worse, they are too different, whilst I sniff and purr and dream the opposition halfback simply lifts his leg and urinates on the scoreboard and apologizes profusely only to come back next week for a rerun. That is not for me, give me a laden peach tree and enough tears to illustrate my point and that'll do me for eternity. My eyes need a rest, my stomach a fill, my heart needs a bandaid and a whisper, just a tissue soft memo, just a loving prod in the arm... but it will not come. I knew there was something I needed to pick up after work, never mind I'll get it Boxing Day... forgotten