A Short Poem
by Mythangelo

Black Santa is dead.
He lies silently against the wall.
Oh! Sight of his flattened limbs,
haunting wails like a broken doll.

He died alone. I know not whence
he met his doom.
Now I search, desperate for a culprit
Guilty faces in the room.

Black Santa is dead.
It’s a mortality clause.
Yes, a bad pun… on humanity!
but let’s not weep for their loss.

Black Santa is dead.
And you killed him. Yes! You!
Or maybe it was me,
or all of us… or Stu!

Who is Stu? I have no clue.
But he probably did it… or not,
but if he did, murdering bastard,
fate will see he will rot.

Black Santa is dead.
Oh! The grief claws (Clause?) at my heart,
and there’s a knot, deep in my gut…
but that might just be a fart.

Black Santa is dead.
Oh the light, the air, they are gone!
Would someone, please, flip the fucking switch,
and turn that thing back on!