The lights flicker against cheap velvet darkness, An asylum of tinsel and twisted cheer. Behind the wheel sits the specter of Christmas past, Clad in candy-cane stripes and dead-eyed resolve.
The tree glows brighter than salvation, Its needles whisper secrets to the cold glass. Outside, the night burns neon red – A countdown to nowhere.
This isn’t a holiday. It’s a hostage situation.
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