Pitch Black

It’s that time of year again when the jingles drown out the deafening noise inside.

Dark Santa, is that you? Or is it your devil brother in the crib?

I’m one of the wise men full of disgust and gag at the smell of frankincense and infamy.

Will it be over soon? Or more jolly vomit in the air?

Suffocation, no relief in sight — Holy Trinity — the family I never had.

Why do I miss them so much?

Because I was born an angel, but my halo is broken so badly that it hurts.

All. The. Time.

And Adam took a rib of mine. I take a sip from the cauldron of poison — the happiest time of the year. Hey, fill the glass. More frosting, please.

I’d rather be the shadow elf, jumping into the Volcano and turning into lava and purple ash.

So that I forget that I was ever born, to never die again, to un-remember my innocence, my longing.

Dark Madonna weeps hot embers.

©️ Ute Luppertz 2025