It is possible she knew something was wrong
while putting Christmas ornaments on her window
at the beginning of November
just to trace back to when she could feel
She was afraid of the darkness
for as long she could remember
and sparkling denial of reds and greens
made darkness less real.

It was a bizarre question
of self-deceiving and spite that made her bet herself
for how long,
or how intense
she can fake the passing of the time
repeating the ancient rite of decorating her bookshelf.

And a sick thought of how
once the lights go dim and baubles break
she is sitting on a perverse throne
of emptiness and echo
with one last decision
she reprieved to make.

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