Birthday (poem)

What a sad time of the year

When people gather round to clap around a cake on flames.

Singing a song that’s only conventional

With happy faces that don’t really care.

A mere duty, it is, it seems.

Sitting in a crowd of those who claim to love you

Pretending to love them just as much

While all you can think about is the moment this will be over,

So you can go home and lay in your bed alone and cracked

With disgrace of another year that will never come back.

It will never be remorseful of the pain it contained.

What a sad time of the year, indeed,

When people gather around a wreck of a person that I am.

Singing a song that that has been sung to me twenty times before.

With faces that pretend to care.

A mere duty, it is, it seems.