A Cold, White Christmas in St. Paul

Despite the fact
that I'm sweating buckets,
I can't help but pull my sweater
tighter to my body,
while I try to forget that
you were never talking to me
to begin with
and to forget
that I wouldn't blame you for a second.

Despite the fact
that I don't believe in anything,
I can't help but find myself repeating,
stuttering over the same words
that everyone expected
but nobody told me
were coming.

But more than anything
I'm just sick
of feeling the victim
or feeling the victor
when nobody will come
out limping from this wreck
because this wreck never happened.

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