All of these villanelles of regret
dragging me down beautifully,
Rending new cracks and fissures
into this tired old soul, breaking
again and again with every fresh heartache.
The morning after finds my thread full of gift-wrapped images, candy cane colors, trees executed and dressed up in festoons from Walmart and Dollar General from last year’s clearance event.
They land like breakfast from a greasy spoon on a stomach still holding last night’s bourbon, giving me the mouth sweats and making my head pound to my bloodbeat.
Guiltmas is coming.
Everything in me screams no, wants dive back into bed, bury my throbbing head under my pillow, and scream until it’s all over and the promise of spring returns.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
I'm a weirdo nerd who’s extremely subversive. I like rocks, incense, and all kinds of witchy stuff. Intrusive rhyme bothers me.
I’m known as Dena Brown to the revenuers and pollsters.
MA English literature, College of Charleston
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Comments (6)
I thought this was the one
"Guiltmas" is perfect, Harper. I got a kick out of this one! Another writer, I can't remember who, said they were in Villanelle "recovery."🤣 I will take some Bourbon, please! Just saying!!!
Your gustatory imagery was so strong. If I had been hung over it might have made me gag. Well done that. I love reactionary pieces that sing. This one certainly does. Nice work.
Guiltmas is killing me 😂 Totally stealing that term — this hit way too close to home in the best way.
Love this. You'll probably love my expletive-laden shit on christmas for the Ritual of Winter challenge or whatever the fuck it's called lol.
Ha I think I will be adopting “guiltmas” into my vocabulary!